distracting toji while he's on the phone...♡ (rough!toji x sweet!fem reader)
tojis halfway through a phone call when you climb onto the couch beside him, immediately curling into his side while he keeps talking, one arm stretched across the back of the cushions behind you and his phone pressed to his ear.
its something about money, something about work, something thats got his brows pulled together while he listens with that oh so familiar rough expression.
"yeah, I heard you," he mutters "then tell 'im I aint payin extra."
meanwhile, youre completely occupied with him.
your fingers find the side of his hair first, gently combing through the shorter strands near his temple while your cheek rests against his shoulder. toji keeps listening while you continue absent mindedly playing with him. your hand drifts lower, tracing the line of his jaw before finding his collar, smoothing it down and then fiddling with it again for no reason other than you just felt like touching it.
"because that aint what we agreed on." he says into the phone, voice steady despite the fact youve now moved on to his hands.
you turn one of them over in your lap, running your thumb along old scars and rough knuckles, tracing every line in his skin with a quiet concentration while the conversation continues.
the man on the other end keeps talking, and toji tries listening.
then your fingers slide to the rolled sleeves of his top, adjusting them before trailing slowly down his forearm, following the muscle there with light touches that dont mean much to you and mean everything to him.
his jaw tightens slightly. "yeah," he mutters into the phone, "mhm"
by now youve found his hand again, interwining your fingers with his, turning them, tracing the shape of his thumb while leaning a little more heavily into his side.
youre not even looking at him, youre just happy sitting there, all soft and sweet, quietly occupying yourself with whatever part of him happens to be within your reach.
the silence on the other end of the call stretches.
"...you still there?" the guy asks.
toji blinks once, realizing he hasnt heard a godamn thing for the last minute. his eyes drop to you where youre curled against him, happily playing with his fingers while resting your cheek on his shoulder.
"yeah." he says "keep talkin."
but his free hand is already settling over yours, thumb brushing across your knuckles while he looks down at you for a second longer than necessary, then he leans over and presses a rough distracted kiss against the top of your head without interrupting the call, squeezing your hand once before settling back into the couch.
toji still isnt listening to the man on the phone, not with you tucked into his side playing with his hair, his sleeves, his hands, every soft little touch way too distracting.
choso just wants to do you a favor and give into your fantasy ୨୧ choso kamo x fem!reader ୨୧ i need him to wake me up like this
choso remembers the first serious talk about intimacy you had. he specifically remembers you saying you wanted to be woken up with fingers buried deep inside you, why not make that reality now?
he wakes up from his slumber with a boner growing in his boxers. he assumed he had a wet dream even though he can't really remember. his skin is sticky in sweat as he sits up.
you're laying on your back, sleeping soundly. he watches you for a few minutes before remembering exactly what you said.
he lays back down next to you, kissing your cheek as he hand dips into your panties. he can feel your warmth and he nearly makes a sticky mess in his pants.
he slides a finger inside your pussy. it's not wet, you're asleep, not even close to being aroused. he doesn't want to hurt you so he pulls his finger out. he gathers spit on his fingers and dips them back into your panties.
he rolls two fingers around your clit and he feels you twitch. he stops for a second, making sure you're still asleep before continuing to roll circles on your pretty bud.
you twitch again but this time he doesn't stop. he can feel you getting wetter by the second, your body reacts to him so quickly. he watches your face, your chest heaving up and down.
he wonders if you think you're dreaming.
when you finally get wet enough, he slips one finger into your hole, reaching that one spongey spot. your chest heaves more but somehow you haven't woken up.
he slides another finger in. he can feel a stretch and he hears your breath hitch. he keeps going, thumb rubbing your clit as he fucks his fingers into you.
your pussy reacts to his every move even if you're not conscious. choso thinks it's sexy. he continues fingering your poor pussy till he feels you clench around his fingers.
you gasp, eyes opening, finally coming back to consciousness.
it takes you a few seconds to realize what was happening. choso fingering you while you slept.
a fantasy, one you wanted to experience for the longest.
you smile lazily at choso, pulling him close as he leaves his fingers in your soaked pussy.
he doesn't say anything, his thumb gently nudges your clit again and he feels you get wetter. he smirks, moving his fingers again, this time with you awake.
His nod was all the confirmation you needed. Instead of leaning in, you decided to pull back just a little, stretching the tension “I missed you too,” you murmured, hand grazing his chest. “Tell me did you think about me while you were gone?”
“Every single night,” he breathed, shuddering under your touch “I couldn't get you out of my head. Not for a second.”
You let your fingers wander, tracing the line of his chest down to his stomach, finally hooking them into the waistband of his pants.
“Let’s see what you’ve got for me, shall we?”
You whispered the words as you worked the button and slid his zipper down, peeling back the fabric to reveal him. He was already straining against his boxers, thick and heavy, clearly aching to be let out.
“Mmm, looks like someone’s very happy to see me,” you teased, running your palm along the length of him through the thin fabric.
He groaned at your touch “Please, bunny... just a lick,” he begged “I need you. I’ve been dreaming about your mouth on me for days.”
You could see the hunger in his eyes and the way his chest heaved, his entire body leaning into your touch, waiting for whatever you decided to give him.
“Just a lick?” you repeated, arching an eyebrow. “I think you deserve more than that.”
Your breath felt hot against his skin as you freed him from his boxers. The moment you ran your tongue along the underside of his cock he cursed, head falling back.
“Fuck, yes!”
When you finally wrapped your lips around him, he pulsed against your tongue, growing harder with every stroke. His hands instinctively reached for your hair, seeking something to grip but you caught his wrists.
“Hands to your sides, Xavie”
He let out a frustrated breath but obeyed, pulling his hands away from you to grip the sheets beneath him instead.
You knew exactly where to press your tongue and how to drag your teeth just enough to tease him, until you took him deeper, nose pressed against his pubic hair, eyes watering.
“Fuuuck, I won't last long,” he groaned.
You popped off his cock with a wet sound, a string of saliva connecting your lips to him, and looked up at him with a smirk. “You say that like I don't enjoy feeling you spill down my throat.”
To prove it, you ran a slow stripe of your tongue from base to tip again and swirled it around the head before running it along the slit, lapping up the precum that had leaked out.
“Fuck, bunny,” Xavier moaned, his hands moving to your temples, trying to push you back down. “You’re going to make me cum. I can’t hold back anymore.”
You resisted him, holding your ground just to watch his desperation. When you pulled away, he let out a broken whimper, his hips jerking forward in a futile search for your mouth.
But you didn't give it to him. Quickly, you crawled up his body, straddling his hips and pulling your underwear aside. His cock pressed hard against you as you teased it along your folds, coating the tip in your arousal.
“I saw how comfortable you were with Leah back at HQ,” you said, voice dropping with possessiveness. You weren't going to let him pretend you hadn't noticed how she had been circling him.
Xavier opened his mouth to explain, but before he could get another word out, you sank down on him. A broken groan tore from his throat as you took him all the way in. His head hit the pillow and his eyes squeezed shut, body going rigid.
“Fuck,” he breathed. “There’s no one else for me. You know that. I was just being polite, that’s...”
You silenced him with a heavy roll of your hips, grinding down hard. “Eyes on me,” you demanded. “Watch me take what’s mine.”
His eyes snapped to yours.
“Only I get to touch you. Only I get to fuck you. Right?”
He nodded, too overwhelmed to speak. “Yes,” he choked out. “Only you. Always you.”
“Good boy. You’ll be good for me, won't you, Xavie?”
“Yesss,” he hissed, his hips jerking up to meet yours. “Please, please...”
“Mmmh, you’re so pretty when you beg,” you murmured, tracing the line of his jaw with your fingers.
His gaze dropped to your breasts, watching them bounce with every thrust. He couldn't look away, the sight of your skin moving with the rhythm of your hips had him completely entranced.
"Keep your eyes on mine, you will watch me make you cum, or you won't cum at all."
You shoved two fingers past his lips and he wrapped his tongue around them immediately, coating your knuckles in warm spit. When you pulled them out, a string of drool connected your fingers to his mouth.
He watched you bring those glistening fingers down your body, breath hitching as he imagined your fingers circling your clit. His cock throbbed harder inside you at the sight.
He saw your lips part, heard your breathy moans as you neared the edge and then you whispered his name.
“Xavier.”
That was it. That was all it took to send him over. His body seized beneath you as he came, faster than he’d ever come before. Your walls clamped down tight around him, soaking in the sudden heat. He pulsed inside you, emptying himself until you were both shaking from it.
“Such a good boy,” you murmured, dragging a finger through the slick mess between your thighs.
You brought it to your mouth, lapping at the salty, musky combination of your arousal and his cum. His eyes darkened, watching your tongue move, heat building between you again.
“Want a taste, baby?”
His eyes fluttered shut with a low moan when you pushed your finger past his lips, throat working as he swallowed. Then, in one sudden move, he shoved you onto the mattress.
You gasped as he pressed you down, his cock still buried inside you, hard and pulsing like he hadn't even cum. Leaning in, his lips brushed your ear.
CW: Smut. Oral. Squirting. Use of toys. They cum untouched. 🔞 MDNI🔞
Part 2: Caleb/Zayne/Sylus
Part 1: Xavier/Rafayel
Edited repost from my old account (Applecaviar)
He likes to watch and he doesn't miss a beat. He’s surgical with it, cruel in his precision, as he presses the humming tip of the vibrator back against your clit, making you lose the ability to think in coherent sentences.
"Oh fu... Unghh... Cay... "
"Look at you," his voice drops into that low monotone that usually signals he’s losing his grip on his restraint. "So greedy."
Then comes the warmth. A wet, heavy splash of his saliva hitting your cunt. It’s almost insulting how much you crave that bit of dominance, your walls clamping shut in anticipation of him.
Two fingers. Then three. He doesn't ease in, he drives them deep, stretching you, filling the hollow ache that’s been screaming for him since he walked through the door.
"God..."
Your voice breaks, sounding foreign to your own ears pitched higher, wetter, ruined. You're fisting the expensive silk sheets, knuckles turning white, trying to anchor yourself to reality while he systematically dismantles it.
He knows exactly where to hook, how to curve, finding that singular nerve that turns your bones to liquid.
"You like it like this, don't you, baby? You like it when I play with you like this?"
"Yes... yes, Caleb..." you moan, the words coming out wanton and breathless. Your head thrashes against the pillow, vision blurring as the pleasure builds into a mounting tension that feels like it might actually snap you in two.
Desperation takes the wheel. You're moving on your own now, driven by the need to bridge the gap between the toy and his flesh. You begin to grind your hips frantically against his hand, fucking yourself shamelessly on his fingers. Each thrust of your pelvis forces him deeper into you, chasing a climax that feels like it's standing just an inch out of reach.
And he loves this. He loves seeing you lose every ounce of control, knowing that the only reason you're falling apart is because he's the one pulling the strings.
Underneath the layers of his commander persona, Caleb is a mess of restraint held together by sheer willpower. Right now, that willpower is fraying. As he watches you grind yourself senseless against his hand, his own hips press heavily into the mattress, fighting the agonizing, pulsing throb of his cock.
His thumb finds the switch on the vibrator, clicking it up to the highest setting. A frantic hum that turns the sensation against your clit into blinding electricity. You’re losing it. You’re genuinely losing your goddamn mind.
"Fuck... I'm gonna cum, like everywhere!" your words sound more like a sob than actual speech.
Your hips are jerking in helpless spasms, trying to chase the peak, but just as the first wave of the orgasm hits Caleb yanks the toy away. You’re left gasping, sobbing at the void where the pleasure used to be.
But he doesn't let you linger in the wreckage for long.
With a strength that reminds you he's a trained soldier, he hauls you off the bed. You feel light, dizzy, your legs dangling uselessly in the air as he moves you across the room. Before you can even process the shift in scenery, he pins you against the cool, solid expanse of the wall.
Then, he sinks to his knees.
It’s a position of supposed worship, but the way he handles you feels far more dominant. His hands clamp onto the backs of your thighs, hoisting them up and spreading you wide. He hooks one of your legs over each of his broad shoulders, leaving you completely open, stark naked and defenseless before him. You’ve never felt more exposed, more his.
He looks up at you, and for a heartbeat, your boyfriend is gone, replaced by something far older and hungrier. His gaze is heavy, hooded, and terrifyingly focused.
"Squirt down my throat, Pips," the command vibrating in his chest it’s an order from a man who expects absolute surrender. "Give me every last drop."
His lips seal around your pretty clit while his tongue swirls and flicks with a rhythm that targets every nerve ending he’s spent the last ten minutes tormenting.
Even when you drift somewhere past the realm of actual consciousness, Caleb refuses to let you slip away. His Evol holds your trembling thighs firmly over his shoulders while his mouth works magic on your clit.
His fingers find their way back inside you, sliding into your drenched heat and hitting your G spot dead on.
"Oh my god, oh my god!" the words are just ragged stabs of sound, repeated like a mantra.
An overwhelming wave of release floods downward, and Caleb meets it with hunger, swallowing every precious drop.
Thanks to his gravity you aren't even allowed to slump to the floor, he keeps you suspended, pinned against the wall, forcing you to endure the beautiful agony of the aftershocks.
Eventually, the world stops spinning. Slowly and carefully he eases you down until you're straddling his lap on the cool expanse of the hardwood floor. Your chest is heaving, lungs burning as you fight to reclaim your breath.
Caleb rests his forehead against yours, eyes squeezed shut "I haven't cum in my pants since..." He pauses, letting out a shaky, incredulous laugh that sounds more like a groan. "... you've reduced me to a fucking teenager again. Leaking in my boxers like a kid back in high school."
Your curiosity wins out over your exhaustion. Glancing down, you notice the darkened patch blooming on the fabric of his boxers, damp and heavy.
"The way you moaned my name just..." He opens his eyes, the violet depths clouded with a heady mixture of lust and adoration. "Fuck, Princess... say it again."
A wicked, sleepy little grin pulls at your lips. Oh, he wants to play? Fine. If he wants to be teased, you'll give him exactly what he's asking for.
You lean in, tilting your head so your lips graze the shell of his ear. You let your breath hitch, mimicking that desperate, high pitched whine you make when he's buried deep inside you.
"...Caleb..."
You drag his name out, turning it into a soft, melodic sob of longing. To seal the deal, your tongue darts out to trace the curve of his lobe before giving it a playful, sharp nip. A shudder wracks his body, and you can feel his cock twitch, straining hard against your thigh.
As soon as your hand cups the hot, hard length of his cock through his boxers, he moves. He rises in one powerful surge, hauling you up with him so your bodies crash together, ribcage to ribcage, heart to heart.
"Oh, you asked for it," he rasps, his grip tightening on your waist "Don't expect me to be gentle now."
Across the mahogany expanse of the desk, Zayne looks entirely too composed. His posture is perfect, broad shoulders framed by the dim lamp light, looking every bit the professional cardiac surgeon even though he’s currently playing god with your nervous system.
"Oh Zayne, please, I can't... It's too much!" you whimper, squirming uncomfortably in the plush office chair while the vibrator nestled in your underwear pulses relentlessly.
Zayne doesn't move quickly. Why would he? He thrives in the slow burn. His gaze remains fixed on the monitor for a heartbeat longer a calculated bit of torture before those hazel eyes finally drift toward you. They aren't warm, exactly, they're sharp, clinical yet burning with a quiet sort of hunger that makes your stomach flip more than the vibrations ever could.
“Too much?” He repeats the phrase softly, testing the weight of it. An amused huff escapes him, a sound between a chuckle and a sigh. To anyone else, he might seem indifferent, but you can see the slight tightening in his jaw, the sign that he’s enjoying this far more than a ‘serious’ man should. “That’s a subjective term. Biologically speaking, your nervous system is simply responding to intense stimuli. You aren't breaking, you're merely... peaking.”
He leans back, the leather of his chair creaking softly. Instead of turning the device off, he lets his thumb linger on the remote, hovering near the dial like a predator deciding whether to strike or wait.
“Besides,” he adds, his tone shifting into something softer, more intimate, though no less commanding. “A doctor wouldn't recommend stopping halfway through a treatment. We need to reach the conclusion, don't we?”
With a sudden movement, he clicks the remote again. This time he slams the intensity to the highest setting.
“Now,” he commands, his eyes locking onto yours, dark and unwavering. “Don't fight it. Show me exactly how much you can endure.”
"Nonononon... fuuuuuck"
He looks down at the remote and you flinch, expecting another punishing wave of vibrations but the humming suddenly dies. Silence crashes into the room, leaving you feeling strangely hollow and desperately unfinished. You lurch forward slightly, gasping, expecting something, but nothing comes.
"I'm just... too sensitive...I can't... I won't..."
"Won't what, exactly?"
Zayne’s voice cuts through your haze, calm and infuriatingly steady. You watch him rise from his chair, his movements possessing that effortless grace of someone used to being in total control. He moves around the desk, closing the distance between you with slow strides that make your heart hammer against your ribs.
"Won't tease me quite so much next time?" he asks, finishing your thought with a teasing lilt. He reaches down, hooking a single finger under your chin to tilt your face up, forcing you to drown in his intense stare. "Or perhaps you mean you won't act like such a little brat, trying to push me right to the edge of my self control?"
His confidence makes your head spin. As he speaks, his thumb begins a slow graze along the curve of your bottom lip. You can’t help it, you let out a shuddering exhale, mouth parting involuntarily. Seizing the moment, he slides his thumb inside, filling the space. Without really thinking, driven by nothing but pure instinct you wrap your lips around him, sucking gently.
"There she is. My good girl." he watches you, mesmerized by your surrender "What a beautiful little mouth you have. Makes me wonder..."
He kneels before you and leans in, his breath ghosting over your ear, hot and dangerously intimate. "Exactly how many more times do you think we can do this tonight? How many peaks before you're completely ruined?"
Before you can even process the threat, his free hand is sliding underneath the hem of your skirt. His fingertips trace a path up your inner thigh, light as a feather but searing like ice. You're shamelessly soaked, your lace panties sticking stubbornly to your pussy.
"Consider these mine now," he says before he hooks his fingers into the waistband and drags your damp undies down. He doesn't set them aside, he stuffs them right into the pocket of his lab coat "You are not getting them back tonight. They belong to me."
Suddenly, his grip tightens on your hips. He hauls you forward, dragging you to the very edge of the chair and forcing your knees wide. The sudden rush of cool office air hitting your heated skin makes you jump,.
"Zayne, please..." you whine, but the protest dies in your throat, replaced by a sharp gasp when his fingers find you.
"Please what?"
He’s being cruel. His touch becoming agonizingly light, mere circles dancing around your clit, teasing the peak without quite delivering the blow.
"I... I need..." You’re gasping now, the words tripping over one another in a clumsy rush. All the pretenses are gone. "I need you, Zayne. Fuck me. Please!"
"That's my girl," Zayne coos and rewards your pathetic desperation with a sudden thrust of two fingers, burying them knuckles deep into your cunt. "Absolutely perfect.”
He lingers there for a heartbeat, watching your eyes glaze over before whispering “Just one more.”
With practiced, dominant ease, he hauls one of your legs up over his shoulder and suddenly there’s no space left between you. His mouth finds you, hot and impossibly wet, and the world simply dissolves.
"Zaynie, please!" You’re sobbing his name now, your fingers tangling blindly in his black hair. Part of you wants to shove him away, terrified by the velocity of the pleasure building in your gut, but he’s unrelenting. He’s everywhere.
“That’s it, sweetheart. Let go. Cum for me one more time” his voice is muffled against your slick skin, the literal vibration of his words sending tremors through your entire body.
He’s ruthless, sucking your clit softly, his teeth grazing the nub just enough to send white hot sparks through your nerves while his fingers plunge back inside your fluttering pussy.
“Zayne... I’m gonna... I can’t... you have to... ”
The warning dies in your throat. You don't even finish the sentence before you shatter. You aren't just cumming into his mouth, you're squirting, the force of it splashing across his face in a chaotic, beautiful mess.
Across from you, Zayne lets out a guttural grunt. His entire body stiffens, stomach muscles clenching hard as his body responds to yours. His heavy weight settles, and then he erupts hot, thick spurts of cum soaking through his boxers and darkening the expensive fabric of his slacks in a visible, spreading bloom.
When the haze clears, reality rushes back in. Mortified, you scramble to sit upright, snapping your legs shut “I’m sorry!” you stammer, your face burning hotter than your body. “I tried to warn you, really, I was trying to tell you to pull back but...”
A sound breaks through your apology, a deep chuckle that fills the quiet office.
“Oh, sweetheart,” he sounds delighted, casually wiping the glistening traces of your release from his cheek. He looks at you with a gaze so warm it’s almost sinful. “Do you honestly think I’m complaining?”
He stands up, unabashedly surveying the wreckage. He looks down at the damp, dark patch on his slacks, the undeniable proof of his own release and he looks triumphant. Like he’s just conquered a mountain.
“My hair is a mess, my pants are soaked through, and my face is covered in you,” he says, the grin on his face widening into something truly wicked. “And I’ve never been happier.”
He reaches out, catching your chin to force your eyes up to his. The intensity there is enough to make your knees weak all over again. “That was probably the hottest thing I’ve ever witnessed. Truly.” He leans in, his breath warm against your lips “I can’t wait to do it again... as soon as I give my eighteen year old self his balls back”
"Deeper, kitten. All the way in"
Sylus doesn't move. He just sits there watching the slick friction of the dildo sliding between your trembling thighs. Every slide, every shallow gasp you let out feels like it's happening directly to him. He watches the way your muscles twitch, the way you desperately attempt to swallow the thick plastic.
Breathless, you try to obey. You bear down, straining to accommodate the intrusive stretch, trying to sink the toy deep enough to satisfy the hunger in his eyes. But your body isn't quite cooperating, your walls cling tightly to the silicone, fluttering in a rhythm that fights the very thing you're trying to welcome. It’s a tight, punishing fit.
Instead of pity, however, you find only more heat in his expression. A smirk pulls at the corner of his mouth, an arrogant curve that tells you exactly how much he enjoys seeing you unraveled.
"Look at you," he muses, watching you squirm through labored breaths. "You always look so pretty when you struggle to take it all."
The comment sends a fresh wave of mortification rolling through you, though it does absolutely nothing to stop the coil of heat tightening in your gut. Being watched like this, stripped of your composure is terrifying.
You bite your lip hard enough to sting and push harder, driven by an irrational need to prove you can handle whatever he demands of you.
"Careful, sweetie," he interrupts, his tone dipping into a mocking sweetness he reserves just for you. "If you get any more desperate to finish, you’re going to ruin my sheets."
You follow his gaze down, realizing with shame that he's right. There’s a darkening patch of moisture spreading across his expensive silk, glistening proof to just how much control you've lost.
"S-sorry..." you stammer, trying to pull yourself together, feeling small and hopelessly undone under his gaze.
He stands and moves toward you, it takes him three strides to bridge the gap "Believe me, sweetie, I wasn't complaining," he murmurs and with the lack of filter he possesses, he adds "I wouldn't mind if you painted every inch of this room in your cum tonight."
He drops down, laying flat on his stomach directly in front of you. Now, he’s mere inches away from the wreckage of your pleasure right where your new toy is stretching your needy pussy to its absolute limit. From this close, he sees everything, the way your swollen lips cling desperately to the silicone, weeping around it with every withdrawal.
He also has a perfect line of sight to your clit. Every time you slide down the swollen, pretty nub peeks out from its little hood like a teased secret.
"You're going to make me cum without me even having to lift a finger," he admits.
You try to find your voice. "Good..." you manage to gasp out, your heart hammering against your ribs. "I remember you being...fuck...very intrigued by the idea of just watching. So...I hope you are liking the show"
"Oh, absolutely. Im going to watch every second," he promises, his gaze never wavering from the wet, glistening friction of the toy. "I want to see the exact moment you break, the second you can't take any more and then I'm going to take over, kitten."
The pressure is building and your vision is blurring at the edges, your entire nervous system feeling like it’s being rewired by pure friction.
You can't help it, you cry out, your voice high and shaky"I'm almost there, Sy!"
"Lie down on the bed. Now."
With limbs that feel like jelly, you scramble back onto the mattress, the slick toy finally sliding free from your overworked cunt. As soon as it's out, a fresh rush of moisture spills from you, trailing a path down the inside of your thigh.
"Perfect. Now, spread your legs for me, let me see exactly what you've done to yourself."
Heat floods your face as you hesitantly peel your thighs apart, exposing your swollen, reddened folds to the cool air. Your clit is pulsing with a heavy ache that demands attention.
"Can I?"
Every cell in your body is vibrating. You aren't even thinking clearly anymore, the politeness has evaporated, replaced by a raw need.
"Please, Sy..." The plea breaks from your throat, "Do whatever the hell you want. Lick it, bite it, tug on it... just please put your mouth on me." You're begging, plain and simple, too far gone to give a damn about dignity.
He doesn't make you wait and settles himself firmly between your trembling thighs. For a heartbeat, all you feel is the ghost of his warm breath brushing against your wet skin, sending shudders racing up your spine.
Then, he begins. Slowly. So agonizingly slowly that you think you might actually die from the suspense. He drags the flat of his tongue up, tracing a line from your opening all the way to the sensitive peak and then he does it again but this time he savors the salt and the sweetness of you before sucking your clit between his lips.
An undignified wail escapes you as your back arches off the sheets. White hot pleasure shoots through your body and your hands fly to his head, fingers tangling desperately in his soft hair.
Your thighs won't stop shaking. You can feel the swell, the mounting pressure, the inevitable crest of an orgasm that’s coming for you like a freight train.
"Don't stop, please don't stop! I'm... I'm..."
One of his fingers hooks inside you, curling precisely against a spongy, sensitive spot that sends your vision blurring.
When the first gush of your release hits, Sylus doesn't flinch. Instead, he opens his mouth wide, covering your spasming cunt completely with his lips. He begins to drink down greedily, tongue lapping up every drop.
Your eyelids are clamped shut, your consciousness narrowing down to the point of contact between his mouth and your core. Your knuckles are white where you’re clutching his hair, tethering yourself to reality while the rest of the world dissolves into static.
Your hands gradually loosen their grip. Your muscles feel heavy and useless, as the final, shivering aftershocks roll lazily through your abdomen.
Sylus pulls back just enough to hover over you. He presses a soft kiss to your lips and lingers there for a heartbeat, simply watching the beautiful ruin of your expression.
Moving purely on instinct, your hand wanders downward, drifting across the expanse of his body until your fingertips meet something warm and damp on the fabric of his trousers. A slow grin spreads across your face as you bring your fingers to your lips, licking them clean, tasting the salt and heat of his premature release.
One of his eyebrows shoots up, a lopsided, amused smirk tugging at his mouth. "What?" he asks, his voice still raspy from the effort. "Is my kitten fond of men who ruin their clothes?"
You shake your head "Not exactly, but do you know how good you'd have to be to make the leader of Onychinus cum in his pants?"
His lips graze yours, his intent shifting from observation to conquest once more.
"Well, If I can reduce a Deepspace Hunter to a quivering, begging mess just by watching... heaven help you when I actually decide to try."
other people never get it right, in his opinion. there’s always a vowel that’s too drawn out, or a consonant that’s pronounced too sharply. he only ever smiles and nods when people say his name like that — it’s fine, sure. but it’s not right.
it’s become something very particular for him.
it’s not sah-toe-roo.
he’s also heard sahh-to-roo.
and some people will extend those vowels past their welcome.
but you? it glides off your tongue like honey.
sa-to-ru.
he likes the way it gets all sharp on your lips when you’re mad at him. satoru would never admit it to you, but sometimes he’ll piss you off on purpose whenever he’s in the mood to hear how you sharpen the consonants like knives when you're telling him off.
“what?” the sorcerer sits back in your office chair, the faintest traces of a completely intentional grin on his face.
he’d come in early for once in his life for this exact purpose; satoru knew you always came in devastatingly punctual, so he’d make sure to greet you the best way he knew how to make your morning: by sitting in your office and kicking his feet up on your paperwork.
you loved things clean. it’s cute. he wants you fucking messy, though!
and you’re seething so adorably, with your face all scrunched up and your shiny eyes narrowed. “does this look like your office, gojo?”
nope. not what he wants to hear.
satoru sits up abruptly, making a show out of glancing around the room, before letting out an exhale of a laugh. “you know, all the offices look suspiciously similar. might wanna bring it up with the higher-ups.”
“get out.”
“did you get enough sleep last night?” he tilts his head, feigning concern. “you’re being awfully rude about this.”
the way you narrow your eyes makes satoru wish he could see them glitter with crystallized tears, with his weight on top of you as he slides his tongue between your thighs—
you suck in a breath past pretty lips. “i’m not in the mood. yaga has me on the clock. please just give me this, gojo.”
please, you say, and it makes him smile smugly. satoru loves hearing it (although he’d love hearing it beneath the dark of a particularly low-lit bedroom), but he needs more. needs your voice to wrap around his name like you own it.
“plead nicer. unfortunately for you, i’m in the mood.”
“fuck, no.”
he leans further back into your chair. “didn’t hear you. sorry?”
“satoru.”
there it is. sa-to-ru; just the way he likes.
on other days, even when you’re rendered all sheepish and embarrassed at one of his jokes, satoru just can’t get enough of the way you say his name.
this time, your tone dulls around the edges, always muttered under your breath in front of important people when he’s threatened to embarrass you with something he’s said — it’s soft and small and stern all at the same time, dancing through the air like warm fucking breeze in the winter. he just wishes you wouldn’t be so quiet about it; if the sorcerer had a choice, he’d have your voice on repeat.
he already does, in a way.
it’s why satoru’s taken to teasing you specifically whenever you have faculty meetings in front of the higher-ups, or whenever you’re particularly engrossed in a lesson with your students, just to see you when you’re caught off your game and a tiny bit upset.
satoru loves you when you’re pouting, loves when your lips press flat into a thin line or when the inside of your cheek catches between your teeth, like you’ve got a retort on the tip of your sweet tongue but won’t let it slip for your own sake. so fucking considerate all the time.
you’re unbelievably gorgeous when you’re so composed.
and you let that sweet little breath of his name slip from your mouth when he’d push you a little too far during your class with your first years on reverse cursed technique. your eyes fixate on the ground, lips downturned, as satoru’d just gotten all of your students to laugh at a little jab towards your explaining methods.
“satoru.” you chastised in a small mumble, “let’s talk after my class, please.”
sa-to-ru.
god, that little whisper will be in his dreams tonight.
he’ll hear it over and over again and wish you’d mumbled it right against his earlobe, because no one else ever deserved to hear your voice like that.
“that’s awfully secretive, sensei. what’s so important that our beloved students can’t listen in on it, hm?” he knows what you’re getting at, of course.
but truthfully, he just wants to see your face contort with that fiery little expression, the same one he wanted to mouth at every inch of until nothing was left but pure bliss.
and satoru’s not shy about the way his heartbeat picks up when you nudge yourself a tiny bit closer, just to make sure he’s the only one who can hear what you say next. just so that your voice is only for him.
as it fucking should be.
the sorcerer’s hand just about brushes your hip, and save him if it isn’t taking everything in him to make sure he doesn’t grab you and pull you into his side like he has the right to do so.
“i don’t want my beloved students to hear me threaten to kill their sensei right here,” oh. satoru’s mind goes deliciously numb.
he grins, the edge of his mouth upturning slowly. “i’d love to see you try.”
you frown a tiny bit more.
“what exactly do you get out of pissing me off all the time?”
well.
⭑.ᐟ
satoru knows well enough that he adores your voice when it’s wrapped around his name.
but he’s decided that he loves it best when it’s completely breaking, paired with the gorgeously suffocating feeling of the skin of your thighs pressed into his fingertips and wrapped around his lips.
he loves when his name is exhaled, high-pitched and whiny like sugar, while his tongue paints a stripe across the wetness coating your lips, swirling circles around your pretty clit.
maybe he liked it the most because it’s how he’s always wanted to hear you say his name — it’s just that you’d always been too fucking stubborn, so insistent on hating him that you’d never stop to think how good you’d taste coating his mouth with your slick.
“sa-ah-toru,” you keen as satoru’s tongue dips past the edge of your soaked hole, curling inwards deliciously, moving slow like he’s savoring every fucking drop.
god, he’s hungry — but he’ll die if he goes too quick and can’t taste you ever again.
and if he grips the back of your thighs just a little bit harder when you sing his name like that? he simply can’t help it. he waited too long for this.
sa-to-ru.
you taste just as sweet as you sound.
you’d burst into his office this morning, bemoaning the fact that satoru hadn’t showed up to the previous briefing with principal yaga, of which ended with yaga blaming it on you. you’re bursting with rage, all up in his face, and it’s all a blur from there until your panties are hooked over your ankle, he’s getting on his knees in front of your office chair, wrapping your thighs over his shoulders, and lapping at your pretty cunt.
he hasn't gasped for air; he’s been too enveloped in your scent to care about breathing. he’ll devour you until no one else can. until all that pretty voice of yours knows how to sound out is sa-to-ru.
satoru narrows his tongue, bullying the muscle deep and slow, down to where you couldn’t have thought possible to reach. his eyes are hazy, half-lidded as you tug at his winter locks, shoving him further into your weeping pussy.
“mmph— fuck,” you pant out, eyes screwed shut as he thrusts his tongue in and out of you at a torturous pace. “fuck— gojo, ‘re going too slow—”
“hmm?” he hums into your clit, sending shockwaves straight up from your core. the sorcerer’s gaze meets yours from under the glimpse of your tits beneath your unbuttoned polo.
he loves you composed, he really does — but you look perfect when you’re all messy, just for him.
his lips glisten with your wetness as he grins. “i'll go faster if you say my name properly, beautiful.”
“h—huh?” your words trail off into a candied whine as he pads his finger just against your entrance, smearing the wetness that covers your folds and popping it into his mouth.
you’re so sweet. fuck, why are you so sweet?
“say my name.” he repeats, his voice cheerful yet rough, the tiniest bit of grit around the edge. “remind me how much you love me, gorgeous.”
your eyes still manage to narrow, even as they glitter with needy frustration. “fuck you— mmh!”
satoru simply frowns against the inside of your thigh as he abruptly bullies the first inch of his finger past your entrance, hissing at how tightly your walls were clamping down on him. his mind goes blurry, swirling with thoughts of how delectable you’d look with your thighs around his hips, bullied open and clamping like a vice down on his cock—
he pulls his finger out with a shudder, cooing at the little pout that forms on your lips. “poor baby. if you can’t handle it, you know, we can stop here. if you want.”
“w— what?” you breathe out, eyes wide and glossy like the thought was insulting. “no, please — please, need you, satoru…”
sa-to-ru.
and you’ve drawn out that last syllable like you want him dead.
“again, sorry?”
“satoru!” you squeal impatiently, and he obliged, simply because he’d never say no to you when you sound like that.
the white-haired man groans, biting down on the inside of your thigh and relishing in the way it makes you whine, all high-pitched and finally sweet on him.
his fingers thrust roughly into your aching pussy, stretching you out and moulding you to shape around his skin. you’re dripping down his palm, and satoru’s mesmerized by the sheen of slick that coats his hand as he pounds his fingers in and out of you steadily.
“shit— so pretty here for me, huh?” satoru whispers reverently, as if speaking directly to your pussy and not to you. “just as sweet as that mouth of yours. just as tight too.”
your hands are making a home for themselves in his hair, hips chasing his thick fingers, grinding yourself further into them like he wasn’t deep enough already. your perfect fucking voice isn’t helping the sorcerer’s case either — he swears he loses every semblance of control he has, bit by bit, at each breath of his name leaving your lips, garbled and slurred and destroyed.
“s’toru, satoru,” your mouth drops open, eyes screwing shut as he curls his fingers right into that spongy spot, office chair creaking as your body slumps back into it. “it’s so— fuck, ‘ts so—”
he laughs breathlessly. “yes, gorgeous?”
“it’s so— oh!”
satoru cherishes everything you have to say, he swears he does.
but he also cherishes the way your lips look, all glossed with drool pooling at the corners, when he leans forward and circles his tongue over your clit in mean little motions, lapping at the sensitive skin in tandem with the rhythm of his fingers. you’re a whining, squirming mess — struggling to stay upright, thoroughly desecrated on the office chair you’d chewed him out just weeks ago for stealing.
satoru hisses as your fingertips tug at his locks, so fucking drunk on the taste of your soaked cunt amidst the lewd sound of his fingers slapping against your sex.
“listen to that,” he rasps out, pausing to let the squelch of your pussy speak for itself before laughing dazedly against your clit. “she’s screaming my name too, isn’t she? so fuckin’ good for me, aren’t you?”
your bleary gaze peeks down at him, eyes questioning amidst the pleasure. “s—satoru, you asshole, stop talking to my— mmh!”
before you can protest, his mouth is diving back in. soft lips latch around your clit, and satoru’s painfully hard at the sound of your voice cracking around the syllables of his name, your throat thick with pleasure at the overstimulation. he doesn’t let up; the white-haired man sucks harder at the sensitive bud, all while scissoring his fingers deep inside of you as if mapping you out.
for when his dick goes inside you, of course.
“it’s t—too much,” you complain in a mewl, eyes blurry with forming tears, “satoru, please, please, ‘m so—”
“fuck, take it, gorgeous,” satoru gasps out against your pussy, lips drenched in your taste. “keep talking to me — shit, you’re tight — let it all out for me, okay?”
satoru’s mind had blanked out a long time ago. between the way your lips form his name in one strung out moan, and the way you taste sweeter than any candy he could’ve ever asked for, he’s starting to wonder if he’d died and gone to heaven.
your voice tangles with the filthy squelches that resound through the cramped space of your office, and he swears nothing could ever be better than this.
except for the way you sound saying his name while you cum.
“i’m— i’m—” you gasp, and satoru takes that as a sign to clamp his lips around your clit and suck, curling his fingers up against your g-spot until — “satoru!”
he’s never heard anything so perfect before. his gaze flicks upwards as you orgasm, watching the way your face scrunches up as your cunt tightens unbearably around every inch of his fingers. satoru’s transfixed by your stupid voice, something out of a porno curated by an angel, and if he’s hoping he’s ruined you with his fingers alone, you’ve ruined him with just the sound of your voice breaking.
your breaths are heavy as you come down from the high; soft and warm, sound waves radiating off of you like sunlight. satoru presses a soft kiss to your inner thigh, and you finally peer down at him.
“still mad at me?” the sorcerer grins.
your eyes narrow as soon as you’re back to life. “yes. yaga chewed me out for something that wasn’t even my fault, satoru.”
sa-to-ru. the white-haired man pauses against your inner thigh, raising an eyebrow up at you with something hungry in his eyes. because as soon as you say his name, he decides he’s not fucking done with you yet.
“i’m sorry, gorgeous,” satoru mumbles, giving you a faux-apologetic glance before mischievously pressing a kiss to your clit, watching how your eyes widen. “i guess I’ll just keep going until you forgive me.”
“w—wait!”
satoru gojo really likes the way you say his name.
and he’ll keep making you say it until you know it too.
Your best friend Choso accidentally sends you an nsfw video pt. 2 | Choso x fem reader, part 1 here!!!
.ೃ࿔*:･
When you woke up today, everything was off.
For starters, morning had passed you by entirely; you'd been sprawled out across your bed in deep REM sleep until a quarter after one, waking abruptly with sleep in your eyes and a knot in your stomach.
Only when the initial morning afternoon haze faded did you remember the events from the previous night, a night spent more on tossing and turning than rest, all thanks to a 60-second video.
Choso's video. His pierced tongue lolling as drool spilled onto his veiny cock, the way he said your name with his hand desperately stroking his length—memories that corrupted your dreams still occupied your waking thoughts, reigniting the feeling in your core that felt so wrong but so inexplicably right.
It was almost an hour before you so much as touched your phone, the screen lighting up to reveal an onslaught of messages and missed calls from "Cho 💜👾."
From what you deduced after stringing together your best friend's frantic texts, Choso was drunk and that video was never supposed to make it out of his camera roll, least of all into your inbox. But that didn't answer the myriad of questions still swirling around in your head. So you poured your mind into a text before deleting it all and settling for "come over" instead.
And he did just that—showing up 10 minutes later despite living 15 minutes away on a good day, tired brown eyes wide as he regarded you like some kind of wild animal, clearly unsure of what to expect and afraid to get too close.
Seeing him standing before you felt disorienting. The distance felt small no matter how far you stood, his voice sounded different—heavier now that you'd heard him say your name so intimately, his gaze more intense and his lips magnetizing in a way you never even considered before. You wanted him.
He entered without asking, because that's what you do when you've known someone for years and they're your best friend in the world, before immediately launching into a frenzied explanation for his drunken mistake.
But you couldn't focus on his words, only his lips. You traitorous eyes zeroed in on the glimpse of his silver piercing each time he spoke, and you shivered, a reaction to the mere thought of how the cool metal would feel against your sensitive cl—
It was your name, spoken with palpable concern, that snapped you out of the momentary trance; only it sounded different than it ever had before on his tongue and sent a wave of complicated arousal coursing through you.
"I didn't mean to send it to you." He whispered, avoiding looking into your eyes like it might very well kill him.
"But you meant to take it. Do you always record?"
"Y-yeah," he confessed, like it cost him something to admit. "I guess I have a collection."
The idea of a library of videos like the one that made it to your messages planted a lewd idea in your head, one you decided to follow through with before you could talk yourself out of it.
"Hm." You hummed thoughtfully, relishing the way Choso swallowed nervously the longer your thoughtful silence stretched. "Okay, get your phone out."
He obeyed without question, nervous hands fumbling his phone before extending it towards you without a hint of hesitation. You took the device gingerly from his hand, using his passcode—your birthday, of course—to unlock it and open up the camera. After pressing record you handed it back to him, angling it down before sinking onto your knees in front of him. "Hold it like this."
"W-what are you—"
"Making a video," you answered steadily, as though freeing your best friend's hard length from his pants on camera was an everyday occurrence. "For your collection."
His cock rested heavy in your hands, so much prettier in person that you couldn't help but lick your lips, and the sight alone made him twitch. Without breaking eye contact your tongue swiped a wet stripe over his tip, a teasingly fleeting touch, and your thighs clenched at the sound he made in response.
"Fuck," he whined, phone visibly shaking in his trembling hands. "P-please."
You blinked up at him, tugging your tank top down just enough so that the top of your tits spilled out, painting him an irresistible picture. "Please what, Cho?" You purred.
"Please," he pleaded, any shame he might've felt for begging his pretty best friend long gone as he gazed down at you through lidded eyes. "Do that again pl—"
His words warped into moans as your mouth worked up and down his shaft, drool slipping down to the base as you traced each thrumming vein with your tongue.
It wasn't long before you hollowed out your cheeks and sealed your spit-slick lips around him, bobbing your head up and down while your gaze flicked between him and the camera he struggled to hold onto.
You pulled away from him with a pop! and his eyes fixated on the trail of saliva that covered the distance between your tongue and his tip before your head bobbed back down, taking him to the base until his tip reached the back of your throat.
"Oh my god," he groaned, brown hair messy as he leaned forward to get a better view, phone and any hopes of recording long forgotten.
You were a gagging, drooling mess before you pulled away to look up at your best friend with doe-like innocence despite the vulgar display you put on for him moments prior.
"Tell me where you wanna cum, Cho."
His eyes were dark with lust, his cock leaking as he answered, his response catching you off guard in the best way. "Inside of you."
It wasn't long before you were in your bed, climbing on top of Choso to straddle him as he sat with his head against your headboard. Large hands eagerly made their way under your shirt, groping and grabbing at your tits, teasing your sensitive nipples and tracing up and down your waist before his lips captured yours.
You leaned into the kiss, grinding slowly against his painfully hard cock and whimpering at the feeling of the thin lace of your underwear dragging against your clit while his tip prodded at your entrance.
"I need to be inside of you," he breathed, forehead resting against yours. "You have no idea."
Only you did have an idea, because as he lifted your hips and lined himself up with your entrance, you felt it too, and just as much.
The second you sank down on him, walls stretching but still impossibly tight around his length, he knew he was a goner. A broken sound left his mouth, more a whimper than anything, one that he didn't think himself capable of making.
Not that you were faring any better; once you sank down, taking him to the base, your head fell back and a ragged moan left your lips, already breathless just from the sheer size of him.
Gaining stability, you rested your hands on his muscular chest, feeling his heart thump erratically against your palm. Your hips rolled in small circles, riding him at a teasingly slow pace and Choso whined in response to your cadence, so desperate for more friction that his hips began to piston in and out of your wet cunt.
The new, unexpectedly dominate stimulation had you grinding on him harder and faster, hips circling and rocking back and forth while your nails pressed red marks into the pale skin of his chest and abs.
"Choso mmm-fuck!" You mewled, head falling back and losing all control as the pleasure took over. You thought it couldn't get better; the angle, the intense stretch of his huge cock filling you up.
Until Choso sat up and pushed your back flush against the mattress, lifting you by the hips to drive each stroke impossibly deeper until his bulging tip was visible in your stomach with each thrust.
Something about the sight of you, lips caught between your teeth as you bit down hard, eyes crossing and rolling, made him snap; his fingers began to indent the soft flesh of your ass and your thighs hard enough to bruise, while he fucked you with more fervor, whispering profanities and praises all the while.
"You—fuck have no idea," he started through gritted teeth. "How long I've wanted to fuck you like this."
His voice came out strained, as if the action of forming words was almost too much when paired with the mind blowing pleasure of fucking you.
His words sent a fresh pulse of arousal coursing through you, and your walls clenched around him in time for a line of saliva to roll off of his pierced tongue and onto your clit.
Choso wasted no time before his thumb was circling, spreading a mixture of slick and saliva around your sensitive spot and making you see stars.
"Mm-gonna cum Cho I'm so close," you whined, voice shaky.
"Yeah, yeah m-me too baby." Choso's hands tightened on your legs, and the contrast between the pain of his grip and the sweet praises spilling from his lips was ultimately your undoing. His name left your lips while you came around his cock, feeling him twitch inside of you not long after as his orgasm followed suit.
Both your eyes and his fixated on the spot where his length disappeared inside of you, at the white sticky seed dripping out onto the bed below you.
"I'm on the pill," you said without thinking, noticing where his eyes had landed.
"I know," he answered casually, and you wondered what else he paid attention to that you never considered before.
"If I'm honest," he began after a stretch of silence, eyes finding yours shyly. "I don't really think I actually recorded any of that."
You giggled, remembering the phone and the recording and the reason you were in this position with your best friend in the first place.
"That's okay, I guess we'll just have to do it again."
.ೃ࿔*:･
a/n: idk why this took me so long but here's pt 2 angels hope you love
Your best friend Choso accidentally sends you an nsfw video | 18 + minors do not engage | part 2 here!!
.ೃ࿔*:･
A soft "ding!" reverberated through your quiet bedroom just past midnight, announcing a late night message from your best friend Choso; not unusual since the two of you texted each other like you'd die without constant contact. You stirred in bed, unlocking your phone to a new video in the age-long chat you and Cho used so frequently to send memes and talk shit.
But everything changed when you opened it. Labored breathing echoed from your phone's speakers as Choso appeared to prop his phone up on his desk. You couldn't see much of his face but you'd recognize the manga collection and intricate purple LED lights illuminating the background anywhere.
He leaned back in his gaming chair, the one you'd spent countless hours in kicking his ass at Mario Kart, and his caloused hand dipped into the waistband of his sweats–wait, what???
You paused the video, double checked the recipient name. It still read "Cho 👾💜", confirmation that you somehow weren't hallucinating.
Your finger hovered cautiously above your screen a moment, contemplating whether or not to keep watching, countless thoughts swirling around your head before you ultimately decided to hit play.
As soon as the video resumed, Choso's length sprung free from the confinement of his sweats and your jaw went slack. He's huge, information that never came up in your decade of friendship. And why would it? You only saw each other as friends, right?
That's what you thought to yourself as the video continued and his thumb smeared the precum that pulsed from his swollen pink tip. But then you heard your name on his lips, spoken like a dying man's wish while his chest heaved and his body shuddered.
You damn near dropped your phone , catching it mid air before repositioning it inches from your face like you needed to hear every breath and see every detail—every inch, every vein—to believe it was real.
The video still played, your best friend's ragged breaths and desperate moans spilling from your speakers as his hand stroked his veiny length. Choso appeared to lean down, his silver piercing sparkling as a glob of saliva slid off his adorned tongue and onto his tip, cascading down and pooling obscenely at his fist.
You should stop the video. Obviously he sent it on accident, right? But you were stunned. You couldn't look away if you wanted to, and honestly, you weren't sure that you did.
Especially not as his movements became sloppy, erratic, his moans turned to outright whimpers. "Please, oh fuck, oh my god," he was begging to cum, his tattooed arm flexing as his hips spasmed, desperately lifting with each wet stroke to fuck his own fist harder and faster.
With wide eyes and a confusing flutter in your stomach, you witnessed a side of him you never realized you wanted to see. You were mesmerized and hopelessly turned on, unable to tear your eyes from the screen.
You watched eagerly as one large hand grabbed onto the arm of his gaming chair, the other stroking sloppily, desperately, as your best friend chased his high with your name tumbling off his lips like it was an every day occurrence. Was it?
You found your breaths quickening in time with his as Choso's head leaned back, Adam's apple bobbing with each desperate gulp before white, sticky ropes of cum painted his chiseled abs. The video ended when Cho leaned forward enough to stop recording, but your eyes stayed locked on the frozen still of his slick painted body glinting in the purple-tinted light.
It was that salacious image that burned behind your eyelids when you tried (and failed) to fall asleep, thighs clenched and heart beating erratically while the sound of him moaning your name replayed in your mind like a forbidden lullaby.
You knew it was only a matter of time before he realized that he actually sent you that video, and the anticipation kept you up for hours. It wasn't until the sun began to peek over the horizon when sleep finally came for you.
.ೃ࿔*:･
a/n: I think there will be a part two for this one!!
★ . . situationship!toji making you cūm mid-argument.
the tv flickers with some random action movie neither of you are really paying attention to.
you’re tucked against your eight months situation ship (?) side on the couch, legs spread lazily over his thigh, his big hand shoved down the front of your loose shorts. two thick fingers are lazily circling your clit, slow and almost absent-minded, like he’s just playing with you out of boredom while he watches the screen.
you’re trying to stay focused on the argument you started five minutes ago.
“i’m serious, toji,” you snap, voice a little breathy despite yourself. “you can’t just disappear for days and then show up like nothing happened. i’m not your fucking doormat—”
“mm,” he hums, not even looking at you. his fingers keep rubbing lazy little circles over your swollen clit, slick sounds barely audible under the movie. “you done yelling yet?”
you clench your jaw, heat crawling up your neck. “no, i’m not done. you always do this shit. you think you can just—”
his middle finger presses harder, dragging slow and firm right over the sensitive bundle of nerves. your breath hitches mid-sentence. toji’s lips twitch like he’s fighting a smirk, eyes still glued to the tv like he’s barely invested in what his hand is doing between your legs.
“keep going,” he says calmly. “i’m listening.”
you try. you realllly do. but his touch is getting more deliberate now, fingers sliding down to spread your wetness before coming back up to rub tight, slick circles on your clit. your thighs twitch, one foot pressing into the couch cushion.
“you’re such an asshole,” you hiss, but your voice is losing its edge. “you disappear, you don’t text, you don’t—fuck—”
toji’s finger speeds up just a fraction, still lazy but consistent, perfect pressure that makes your hips start to roll into his hand without your permission. he finally glances over at you, eyes dark and amused.
“what was that?” he asks, voice low and smug. “i didn’t catch the last part, sweetheart.”
you grab his wrist, but you don’t pull him away. your breathing is getting faster, chest rising and falling as the pleasure builds against your will. “i said… you’re a selfish prick, toji—”
he chuckles, low and rough, and suddenly his fingers move faster, rubbing your clit with firm, relentless strokes. your shorts are soaked, the fabric sticking to you as his thick fingers work you open. your argument is crumbling, words turning into soft, broken gasps.
“yeah?” he murmurs, finally turning his full attention to you. “keep telling me how much you hate me while you’re dripping all over my hand.”
your head falls back against the couch, hips grinding desperately into his palm. the tv noise fades into background static. all you can focus on is the tight, aching heat building fast between your legs.
“toji— fuck, i’m— i’m still mad at you—”
“i know,” he says, almost sweetly, but his fingers don’t stop. he rubs your clit faster, harder, using the slick mess you’re making to glide perfectly over that sensitive spot. “cum anyway.”
it hits you mid-breath.
your back arches off the couch as the orgasm crashes through you, sudden and brutal. your thighs clamp around his hand, hips jerking, a broken moan ripping from your throat while he keeps rubbing you through it. toji watches your face the entire time, eyes half-lidded, that lazy smirk finally breaking across his mouth as you shake and whimper.
he doesn’t stop until you’re twitching, oversensitive and gasping, weakly pushing at his wrist. only then does he pull his hand out of your shorts, fingers shiny and dripping with you. he brings them to his mouth and licks them clean, slow and deliberate, while you try to catch your breath.
“you were saying?” he asks, voice thick with amusement.
you glare at him, still panting, thighs trembling.
“i still hate you,” you mutter weakly.
toji chuckles and leans in, pressing a rough kiss to your neck.
cw: FLUFF, SMUT... somnophilia? ish? (wakes u up by eating u out hehe)
Mechanic!Toji who saved up for a year to be able to propose to you. Just a simple diamond band but it made your heart almost beat out of your chest the moment you saw your big burly man kneeling in front of you with a small velvet box… rough hand trembling while trying not to mess up the small speech he had made for you.
Of course you said yes.
Mechanic!Toji who cried on your wedding day.
Okay not cry cry but he did shed a tear or two after seeing you in a white dress, in the humble little wedding ceremony with close family and friends, walking down that isle in the church with that pretty face of yours... it was enough for him to get emotional.
Mechanic!Toji who you bought a little house with, in a small town, just perfect for the two of you. And a dog.
Mechanic!Toji who moved up in his job, becoming one of the managers and bringing in more money- enough to have you be a stay at home wife.
He liked it better this way anyways, knowing that you were right where he left you in the morning after kisses and breakfast.
Mechanic!Toji who you made lunch for in the mornings.
Cooking a whole meal and preparing it all in a cute metal lunch box-
It was decorated with pink stickers and drawn on hearts, even the thermos with his coffee you covered in those sparkly things.
Mechanic!Toji who looked forward to sitting down with the boys at the table in the break room and eat together.
Each had their own partners, showing the sandwiches and packs of chips their lovers sent them off to work with.
But nobody could top Toji's.
Mechanic!Toji who proudly pulled out the pink box, getting laughs from the men around him, but he just grinned, leaning back and reading your daily note.
"Work hard, handsome. <3"
or
"This needy pussy is waiting for you to get home <3"
All depended on how sweet he had been to you after waking up.
Mechanic!Toji who loved to wake you up with a little surprise.
Diving underneath the bedsheets and positioning himself between your thighs, hands gently spreading your legs so he could lean down and nose at your clothed clit.
Once he heard you let out a small whimper or two he pulled the fabric to the side and dove riiight in for a taste, the still a bit sleepy muscle gliding between your folds, scarred lips wrapping around the little puffy bud.
And then you'd wake up, thighs squeezing around his face and hands tugging at his bedhead.
He got the best damn pancakes and pasta made after this.
Mechanic!Toji who wishes he could be there when you sent him naughty pictures.
He was underneath a car, arms and white wife beater covered in grease- but he heard his phone ding.
Nobody texted him besides you.
And he knew you only messaged him for two things.
To ask about what to make for dinner.
Or tits.
Oh how Mechanic!Toji loved your tits. Ass was his favourite though..
Mechanic!Toji who managed to wipe his hands in his cargo pants and fish out his phone from the back pocket.
What a lovely surpise.
You, his beautiful wife sending him a picture of you.
Only clad in an apron.
A pic of you from the side- the angle showing your bare skin, the black fabric tied around your middle and covering the front of you did nothing to hide how your boob was spilling out from the side. Or how your cheek was being spread with your other hand and-
Mechanic!Toji was in a trance, cock hard and aching from the sight.
He only snapped out of it when one of his coworkers called to ask if he was good under the car.
Mechanic!Toji who rushed to finish up whatever he was doing, taking a "smoke" break to go into his little office on the farther side of the shop- and locking the door.
Mechanic!Toji who sent you a shameless video of him fisting his cock, arms still messy with oil and grease from working, weepy tip in frame- the girthy, fat thing looked like it was being squeezed to death by how desperately Toji was trying to get himself off to the thought of that image.
"Shit... baby, need you so bad.... you're such a tease."
The veins on the side pulsed, his shaky breath being recorded by the microphone.
The wedding ring on his finger glistening.
Mechanic!Toji who was quicker than ever to get home, leaving the closing work to someone else today.
If you would see how fast his truck was zooming home, you'd give him a stern talking to about safety.
Mechanic!Toji who opened the door with a heavy grunt, the dog barking and trying to cuddle up to his legs, just happy to see Toji home.
But the muscular man had business to attend to.
You knew what you were doing, standing in the kitchen and stirring a pot with soup inside-
Just as clothed as in the picture you sent him.
If you got bent over the counter and rough hands all over you, a smack on the ass... or five and an impatient husband trying to stuff your cunt to the brim with his cum?
You had zero complaints.
Yoon's notes: just a look into my sick and twisted mind....heh
"you have any idea how much money i've spent on you, sweetheart?"
toji's voice is rough as he crowds you against his apartment wall, one hand already sliding under your shirt. his other hand holds his phone, showing your onlyfans page—and his transaction history. thousands of dollars in tips, custom content purchases, private messages.
"every fucking video. every photo. i've bought it all." he tosses the phone aside and grips your jaw, forcing you to meet his intense gaze. "but now i get the real thing."
he kisses you brutally, all teeth and tongue, claiming your mouth like he owns it. his hands strip you efficiently, years of combat experience making him quick and precise. within seconds, you're naked while he's still fully clothed.
"on the bed, baby. show me that pretty pussy i've been jerking off to for months."
you climb onto his bed, spreading your legs as he watches with dark hunger. toji strips slowly, revealing his scarred, muscular body—the body you've fantasized about while filming content.
"you know what i want?" he kneels between your thighs, running his rough palms up your legs. "i want you to ride my face like you do that dildo in your videos. but this time, it's my tongue making you scream."
he lies back and pulls you up to straddle his face. the first swipe of his tongue makes you moan—he's skilled, experienced, knowing exactly how to work you. he eats you out like a man starving, tongue fucking into you while his nose grinds against your clit.
"toji—fuck—oh god—"
his hands grip your ass, forcing you to grind harder against his mouth. he groans against your pussy, the vibrations making you shake. when you come, gushing on his face, he drinks it down greedily.
"taste better than i imagined, sweetheart." he flips you onto your back, positioning his thick cock at your entrance. "now i'm gonna fuck you better than any toy ever could."
he pushes inside, stretching you open on his massive length. you cry out at the fullness, nails digging into his shoulders as he bottoms out.
"that's it, baby. take every fucking inch." he starts moving, deep strokes that make you feel him in your stomach. "this pussy belongs to me now. gonna fuck you so good you'll never want anyone else watching those videos."
his pace is relentless, powerful thrusts that shake the entire bed. one hand finds your clit, rubbing in tight circles while he pounds into you.
"come on my cock, sweetheart. give me what i paid for."
your second orgasm hits harder than the first, vision whiting out as pleasure consumes you. toji fucks you through it, chasing his own release.
"gonna fill you up, baby. gonna pump you so full of cum you'll be dripping for days."
he comes with a guttural groan, cock pulsing as he empties inside you. when he finally pulls out, he immediately pushes his cum back inside with his fingers.
"we're not done, sweetheart. i've got months of fantasies to work through, and we're doing every single one tonight."
When THEY accidentally send you (p)🌽 link... (part 2)
When YOU accidentally send him a (p) 🌽 link....Here (part 1)
CW: Smut. Oral. P in V. Thigh fucking. Deep throating. Breeding kink. Masturbation. Praise kink. 🔞 MDNI 🔞
There are about 20 open tabs on your phone and a half finished list of new plushies you’ve been eyeing. It’s a problem. Your collection is already getting a bit out of hand, but there’s something about a new squishy companion that just makes the stress of your last mission melt away.
You’re scrolling through your favorite site, debating between a pastel jellyfish or a round, grumpy cat, when your phone buzzes with a text from Xavier.
Xavier: Found something. Thought it might look good on your bed.
You tap the link eagerly, expecting a picture of some ridiculously soft, oversized penguin or maybe a weirdly cute dragon. You’re already mentally carving out a space for it on your bed.
The link loads. You blink.
Then you blink again.
Your thumb freezes mid scroll. It is not a penguin. It is definitely not a dragon. It is an explicitVIDEO that makes your entire face turn red in approximately 0.5 seconds.
Just as the girl in the video lets out a soft moan, your phone vibrates again. This time, it’s a frantic succession of messages.
Xavier: Wait, did that go through?
Xavier: The link?
Xavier: Please tell me you didn't click that yet.
You look at the video one last time before quickly locking your phone and pressing the cool glass against your burning cheek.
🌟 🌟 🌟 🌟 🌟 🌟 🌟 🌟 🌟 🌟 🌟 🌟 🌟 🌟 🌟 🌟
He doesn't say a word. He doesn't have to. The look in his deep blue eyes is heavy, dark, and entirely unapologetic.
The transition from his accidental text to both of you completely naked in your bed happens in less than 10 minutes. Because you’ve only been intimate for a few weeks, there’s still this electric, terrifying novelty to it, the way your heart hammers against your ribs when his hands touch your skin.
He’s behind you, his body acting as a warm, solid anchor. His skin is hot against yours, a seamless fit that feels like it was designed by the universe itself. But it’s what he’s doing, the agonizing patience of it that is pushing you toward the edge of madness.
He isn't fucking you. Not yet.
He's doing exactly what you saw on that video. He’s sliding his cock between your thighs, the slick, heavy length of him dragging slowly against you. Every single time he thrusts, the tip of him catches the little hood of your clit before dragging the lenght of his cock across your most vulnerable spot with a precision that feels soooo good.
"Xavie..." you moan, your voice breaking, a plea you can't quite finish.
"Shh," his breath is hot, uneven, smelling faintly of mint. His lips brush the sensitive curve of your neck. "Just breathe, bunny. Let it build."
He pulls back, nearly losing contact entirely, only to slide forward again, with enough pressure to make your eyes roll back.
"I've been thinking about this," he whispers, his lips brushing your earlobe, sending a violent shiver down your spine. "For months"
You let out a choked sob, head falling back against his shoulder. "You're so beautiful when you're desperate, you’re close, aren't you?"
His voice vibrates against your skin and the smile you can feel against your pulse point is nothing short of predatory. He knows. He’s always known exactly where you are, even when you’re too lost in the haze of pleasure to find the words.
You try to answer, but your voice is trapped somewhere in the back of your throat, drowned out by the thrum of your heartbeat. You don't speak, and he thrives on that silence. To him, your quiet isn't an absence, it’s an admission. It’s the honest, raw truth of a body that has been pushed past its limit and is now screaming for a release it can't quite grasp.
His hand slides down from your ribs to settle firmly on your waist. His grip is certain, unyielding and controlled anchoring you to the mattress so you can’t squirm away.
He presses a kiss to your neck. Once. Slow. Then again, lower, his lips grazing the curve where your shoulder meets collarbone. The heat of it enough to make you arch backward, your spine curving into him, while the dirty intent of his touch makes you clench around the empty air.
"Ask me, bunny," you try to find your voice, but all that comes out is a breathless hitch in your lungs. Seeing your struggle, he doesn't let you off the hook. He reaches up, his fingers tangling in your hair to gently but firmly tilt your head back toward him. He never breaks the rhythm, he angles his hips with precision, pressing the length of his cock harder against your clit, forcing a loud moan from your lips directly into his mouth.
"Use your words," he insists, his eyes dark and hooded, watching the way your expression fractures.
The words tumble out of you, wrecked and desperate, "I want to cum, Xavie... please..."
His lips crash against yours, but the sweetness is gone. He kisses you like his patience has finally grown teeth, hungry and sharp. His hand moves to your thigh, pressing down firmly to maximizing the friction, ensuring every single nerve ending is on fire, making sure you feel every bit of what you asked for.
The world simply ceases to exist. You both break at the exact same moment. You’re gasping, your hands instinctively flying to your own breasts, squeezing them as you chase the peak, your fingers digging into your skin for any extra stimulation you can find.
"There you are..." he whispers against your lips as he spills over your thighs, your cunt, and the damp sheets beneath you. He holds you there, pinning you to the moment, letting the aftershocks roll through you until your muscles begin to tremble into stillness.
When the world begins to drift back into focus, a languid warmth settling over your limbs, a realization begins to dawn on you. He didn't just give you an orgasm. He found a hidden part of you, the part that craves to be unraveled, the part that wants to be ruined slowly and meticulously and he taught it to answer to him, and him alone.
Bzzzz. Bzzzz
Caleb [14:22]: Found a recipe for a honey glazed salmon. Reminded me of that place we went to last week.
You’re supposed to be working on a pile of halfway finished reports on your desk but he’s been rambling about dinner for the past hour.
Caleb [14:23]: Let's try it tonight. Let me know if it looks okay to you.❤️
A link follows.
You tap it, expecting a colorful food blog or maybe one of those YouTube tutorials with a soft acoustic soundtrack. Your brain practically short circuits.
A VIDEO loads instantly. It’s not salmon. It's a girl, sprawled out on a bed, and there’s a man, looming over her as he... well, he's fucking her face. The girl is looking straight up at him, eyes glazed and heavy lidded, completely lost in it. The sound of the video starts to play before you can find the volume button.
"Oh my god," you whisper, frantically trying to close the tab.
Was this a joke? Or maybe a very, very subtle hint? Did the great Colonel Caleb actually just fumble the most embarrassing mistake of his entire life?
Bzzzz
Caleb [14:26]: Pips. The link was wrong. Ignore that. It was supposed to be a cooking blog. Please delete it.
You could pretend you didn't see a single thing and let him stew in his own embarrassment all day. You could let him suffer.
But then again... he did say he wanted to try something new tonight.
You type out a quick reply, heart racing just a little bit.
“The recipe looks good. Do you think we have all the ingredients?😉"
🍎 🍎 🍎 🍎 🍎 🍎 🍎 🍎 🍎 🍎 🍎 🍎 🍎 🍎 🍎 🍎
The dim light of the bedroom catches the violet of his eyes, making them look entirely too satisfied. He’s hovering over you, his broad shoulders blocking out the rest of the world, leaving you in a private universe where the only thing that exists is his weight and the heat of his cock.
His hands frame your face. "Look at me, baby,"
He guides himself to your lips and begins to slide in. He moves slowly, testing your limits, watching your eyes widen as you try to adjust.
"God, you look so good like this," he breathes, his thumb brushing over your cheekbone. "With your mouth so full of me..."
The praise makes your head swim and your throat tighten.
"I should have done this sooner... I should have stopped playing the gentleman and just taken what's mine."
His slow pace breaks, and he thrusts deeper, a sudden surge that hits the back of your throat. Your eyes water instantly, an involuntary gag catching in your chest when your body tries to protest the sudden fullness.
"Silly girl," he coos, not pulling back. He stays right there, buried deep "Don't fight it. Just breathe through your nose"
He waits until he sees your nostrils flare, until you take a shaky, shallow breath through your nose, eyes locking onto his.
The moment you manage it, the tension in his shoulders melt "Theeeere we go," he whispers, giving you one more deep, slow slide, making sure you feel every inch of him. "Such a fast learner. My perfect... fuck... perfect girl."
The need to see just how far you can push him takes over and instead of just taking him, you begin to draw him in, sucking your cheeks in slowly, creating tight pressure around him.
A groan rips from his throat and his hands, which were previously just guiding your head, suddenly dig into your hair, fingers knotting into the strands with a force that almost hurts.
"Fuck, Pips..." his head falls back for a split second before he snaps his gaze back to yours "I didnt teach you that..."
He loses the battle with his own restraint and his hips begin to move with punishing speed. Every time the tip of his cock hits the very back of your throat you can feel the involuntary reflex of your throat tightening and saliva begins to pool at the corners of your lips. It’s messy but it’s exactly what he wants.
"Look at you," he pants, reaching down to catch a stray drop of saliva and smearing it across your chin "So messy for me. You're dripping all over yourself because you can't get enough. You want it all, don't you?."
Your lungs are screaming, your chest heaving in search for oxygen, but you don’t care. The burning in your throat is nothing compared to the sight of him right now, his eyes blown wide, his jaw locked, his face twisted with a kind of agony and ecstasy that he’d never show anyone else.
He’s on the edge. You can feel it in the way his thighs are trembling and he starts to pull away.
Your fingers dig into the hard, tensed muscles of his ass and with a sharp tug, you yank him back inside, slamming him against your face.
The sudden change in pressure snaps the last of his restraint. He doesn't fight you, he doesn't even try. He just collapses into the sensation, his entire body shuddering as he finally lets go.
You feel the first hot, thick burst of him erupt in the back of your throat, a sudden flood that makes you choke and gag, eyes watering.
"Fuck, I can't.. I... " he's shaking all over, his fingers bruising your scalp as he rides out the waves of release.
When he finally pulls away, he doesn't move far. He lingers, his thumb tracing the line of your jaw, his eyes searching yours.
"You really won't let me have anything for myself, will you? he whispers, his voice rough and ruined. "You just have to take it all."
Your workday has been a total slog. Between the endless briefings at the Association and the exhaustion of keeping up with Wanderers, your brain feels like it’s been through a blender. All you can think about is getting home, kicking off your boots, and maybe if you’re lucky getting a moment of peace.
Until your phone buzzes in your pocket.
You pull it out, expecting a tactical update or maybe a nagging message from your supervisor, but it’s a text from Rafayel.
Rafayel: "My darling, my muse, my precious bodyguard, don't you dare go home and sleep yet” the text reads, followed by a string of dramatic, pouting emojis. “Remember I have an exhibition today! It’s a secret location, very exclusive, very avant garde. You simply MUST come by after your shift. It’s going to be breathtaking, just like you. Don't be late, or I might actually die of loneliness. Here is the location!" 👇
LINK
You smile, a little warmth spreading through your chest despite the fatigue. He’s so much, truly, but he has a way of making the mundane parts of your life feel colorful. You tap the link, expecting a Google Maps pin or a sleek digital invite to a high end gallery in Linkon City.
Instead, your screen loads a video.
You aren't looking at a gallery. You are looking at a naked woman perched on a chair, looking entirely too comfortable, while a man, in front of her, puts on a very intense performance. The camera zooms in just as he reaches the grand finale, a messy orgasm that ends up all over the woman's legs, stomach and breasts.
You stare at the screen. You stare at the ceiling. You stare at the wall.
Did he... did he just send you a porn link?
Your phone vibrates again. A second text. Then a third. A fourth.
Rafayel: “Did you see it? The lighting is so evocative, don't you think?”
Rafayel: “The composition of the colors is quite striking.”
Rafayel: “Wait. Why aren't you responding? Are you mesmerized by the art? It's okay, take your time, it's quite a lot to take in"
Then, a final text arrives, and the tone shifts instantly from "pretentious artist" to "absolute disaster."
Rafayel:"Don't look at it! Close it! Close the tab! Throw the phone into the ocean! Forget everything you saw! It was a glitch! A spacetime anomaly! A Wanderer attack on my phone! "
You can’t help it. A snort escapes you, followed by a full blown fit of giggles that makes your coworkers glance over in confusion. You quickly type back a single, teasing reply.
You: “The lighting was lovely, Rafayel. Very... evocative.”
The "typing..." bubble appears immediately. It stays there for an agonizingly long time.
Rafayel: “I am literally dying. Bury me in the sand. Don't you dare come to the exhibition. Actually, come. But don't look at me. I'm never leaving my studio again.”
🫧 🫧 🫧 🫧 🫧 🫧 🫧 🫧 🫧 🫧 🫧 🫧 🫧 🫧 🫧 🫧
The exhibition was a triumph, of course. Rafayel was the star, basking in the praise of the elite, playing the part of the brilliant artist to perfection.
But now, the doors are locked, the lights are dimmed to a soft, amber glow and you aren't looking at his paintings anymore. You’re the centerpiece of a much more private gallery.
You’re perched on the edge of chair, your wrists pulled taut behind your back. He’d used a length of fine, crimson silk to bind them, tight enough to force your shoulders back and arch your spine, thrusting your chest forward, the cool air of the studio grazing your skin, making your nipples harden.
His hand is wrapped around himself, moving with a slow rhythm "You're staring, cutie," a smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth "Is the view to your liking?"
You nod, looking up at him, licking your lips.
He lets out a shaky breath, his knuckles white as he grips himself. "I’ve spent my whole life trying to capture beauty on a flat surface. Trying to trap light and shadow and emotion in pigment and oil. But it's never enough. It’s always... static. It doesn't breathe. It doesn't react."
He moves closer, the heat from his body finally making contact with your open thighs. His gaze drops to your breasts, tracing the curve he’s forced you to present to him.
"But you..." He swallows hard, a low groan escaping his lips as he watches the way your chest heaves with every breath. "You are the only masterpiece that matters. I want to treat your skin like my finest silk and use your naked body as my own living canvas..."
He looks almost pained by need, his eyes wide and dark with a hunger that goes far beyond simple lust. He’s not just looking at a lover, he’s looking at his salvation.
"Every blush on your cheeks, every shiver that runs down your spine... that's the only art worth making."
His free hand moves to one of your breasts, thumb sweeping over your nipple with a pressure that is both worshipful and demanding. He watches the way your eyes flutter shut, memorizing the exact shade of your arousal.
"God, you're so beautiful it hurts," he whispers "Tell me you want it," the hand around his cock moves faster "Tell me you'll let me finish my work."
You don't make him wait. You lean forward as much as the silk allows, your voice a breathless rasp. "Fiinish it, Raf. Show me what you can do."
You can’t look away. You wouldn't even if you could.
A bead of translucent precum swells at the very tip of his cock, glistening like a misplaced jewel under the lights. The skin there is flushed a deep, angry rose, pulsing with the force of his arousal. His head is thrown back, his throat exposed and taut as he bites his lower lip to stifle the needy whimpers that threaten to spill from his lips.
He looks beautiful.
He’s close, so painfully close to the edge that you decide to push him.
Even with your arms bound, you find a way to arch your back further, thrusting your chest toward him in an unspoken invitation. You offer yourself to him, presenting your bare skin as a landing site for his release. "Give it to me. All of it."
The sound of your voice, the invitation in your tone, is the final blow to his crumbling resolve. His body jolts with the force of his release and you watch as the heavy, hot ropes of him arc through the air, splattering across the expanse of your breasts. The heat of it is startling, a wet warmth that makes your skin tingle.
The moment the tension snaps, the strength drains right out of his legs. There is no grace in it just the heavy, unceremonious thud of his knees hitting the floorboards right between your thighs.
He stays there, head bowed, hair falling over his eyes in a dark, damp mess. But then, slowly, so slowly, he lifts his gaze.
His eyes, blown wide and shimmering with liquid heat, find yours at the exact same moment your tongue sweeps out to lick a drop of cum from the corner of your mouth.
When your eyes finally lock, you see the exact second his breath hitches again.
His pupils are so dilated they almost swallow the color of his irises, and a fresh wave of heat, a visible crimson surges up his neck and into his cheeks. He stares at your mouth, watching the way your tongue retreats, his gaze tracing the wet glisten you left behind.
"God..." he groans, the word a broken fragment of a thought "You're going to ruin me completely."
The vibration of your phone against the marble countertop is enough to make you jump. You’ve been nursing a lukewarm cup of coffee for the last twenty minutes, trying to shake off the lingering chill of the Linkon City winter, when the screen lights up with his name.
Sylus
[Sylus]: There’s a private auction tonight. High stakes. It starts in an hour. I’ve been tracking that specific protocore for weeks.
[Sylus] : I’ll send you the catalog link. Take a look. Tell me if the energy readings look as tempting to you as they do to me.
You tap the blue hyperlink, ready to nerd out a little and give him the professional opinion he wants from you.
The video player loads, and you nearly drop your phone.
It isn't a protocore.
It's a VIDEO of a man sprawled across rumpled sheets, his chest heaving as a woman jerks him off. She isn't looking at a camera, she’s looking at him.
The sounds hits you next, the wet friction of her hand, the groans the man lets out, overstimulated.
You bite your lip, a nervous, hysterical little laugh bubbling up in your throat. You can almost see his expression if he knew, that slight, elegant tilt of his head, the way he’d probably pinch the bridge of his nose in a rare moment of genuine embarrassment.
With trembling fingers, you start to type a reply.
You: Sylus... unless this protocore is incredibly well endowed and prone to making loud noises, I think you sent the wrong link.
The silence that follows is agonizing. You stare at the "read" receipt, your thumb hovering over the screen, half expecting the phone to burst into flames from the tension. You’ve spent months navigating his moods, his riddles, and his terrifyingly intense presence, but you’ve never quite known how to handle a moment where the power dynamic shifts so abruptly.
The little bubbles appear. He’s typing.
Is he going to ignore it? Is he going to double down with some devastatingly smooth line that will make you want to crawl under the rug?
A moment later, the notification pings.
Sylus:It seems my finger slipped. Or perhaps my subconscious is simply being more honest than my conscious mind intended.
A few seconds later, another message follows, one that feels much more like the man who watches you sleep with predatory tenderness.
Sylus: I'll be at your door in twenty minutes. Let's not bother with the protocore I think we've found something much more interesting to bid on.
You’ve been at this for thirty minutes and your already obsessed.
There is something intoxicating about the power you hold right now. You never realized that teasing a man like Sylus could be this much of a rush. His entire frame shudders, his muscles coiling like a spring about to snap. He’s right on the edge, his breath hitching and just when you think he’s about to break, you pull away.
Your leg is hooked firmly over one of his heavy thighs, a grounding weight that keeps his legs spread wide for you, exposing him completely to your whims. He’s using his Evol to wrap around his own wrists, binding his hands so he can’t reach out and grab you. He’s forcing himself to endure the torture you’re inflicting, all because he wants this. He wants to feel every second of the ache.
He also looks wrecked. It’s a sight you don't get to see often. Fine beads of sweat are beginning to glisten along his hairline and his eye is glowing a dangerous crimson, tracking your every move.
You lean forward, your hair brushing against his stomach, and as your mouth latches onto one of his nipples he throws his head back against the pillows, his entire body vibrating with the force of his loud groan.
You lift your hand, slowly, dragging your tongue across your entire palm in a long lick just to make him watch, just to make him feel the anticipation. Then, you slide your hand down, finally wrapping your fingers around his cock again.
His eyes roll back into his head when you return your mouth to his nipple, sucking with punishing pressure.
“Please... fuck... Please, kitten. Put me out of my misery.
You feel him tense again, his muscles turning to granite beneath your touch. You stop again.
The sudden absence of your warmth makes him let out a frustrated sound, but you aren't done playing yet. Instead of a full stroke, you just use your five fingers to tease the very tip of him, dragging your fingertips over the sensitive head, over and over again.
“You’ve been so good, Sy,” you coo, your voice a honeyed purr against his skin. “Do you think you deserve to cum?”
“Please, sweetie,” he chokes out. You can see his knuckles turning white as his fingernails dig deep into the palms of his hands “I’ve been... so good...”
He’s lost. The great Sylus, the man who sees everyone's deepest desires, is currently a slave to his own. He probably doesn't even realize he's begging.
"Should I keep you like this all night?" you ask, watching his eyes widen, pupils blown so large they swallow the iris. "It's what you wanted, after all, wasn't it?"
He opens his mouth, the words of a fresh plea already forming on his lips, but you don't give him the chance to speak. Your hand suddenly drops, gripping the thick base of his cock with a firm hold, and you begin to stroke him fast, hard, and relentless.
“I won’t, though,” you whisper, leaning in close so your breath fans over his ear, your voice dripping with a playful, dominant heat. “Because you've been such a good boy.”
The moment the praise leaves your lips, something in him snaps, his entire body arching off the bed in a violent, beautiful spasm.
Even when his muscles quiver with the aftershocks, you keep your hand moving, stroking him to overstimulation, pushing him right past the edge of pleasure.
The energy bindings that were holding his wrists apart simply vanish, dissolving into thin air when his willpower finally snaps.
The air is knocked from your lungs as your back hits the mattress with a soft thud, and suddenly, the man who was just begging is the man who is commanding.
He’s over you, his large hands pinning your wrists to the pillows on either side of your head.
"You think you're so clever, don't you?" his nose brushes against yours, his breath smelling faintly of the cherry wine he loves so much. "Playing with me like a toy. Testing how much a man can take before he loses his mind."
His heavy, still sensitive cock slides between your thighs, a blunt reminder of exactly how much you just put him through. He looks absolutely lethal.
"You've had your fun, kitten," he murmurs, his grip on your wrists tightening just enough to let you know he's in total control now. "Now its my turn to see just how much you can take."
Zayne had been obsessing over that new bakery just a few blocks from your place, the kind of place that smells like heaven and costs way too much. He was mid text, rambling about the sourdough starter and the specific crumb structure of their croissants (of course he was), but he mentioned he’d send over the full menu link so you could decide on a weekend treat.
"Wait, let me send the link. They have a seasonal pastry list you'll love"
LINK
You tapped the blue link eagerly, expecting pictures of glazed danishes or maybe a list of gluten free muffins.
It was not a muffin.
It was a very loud, very explicit video of a man wrecking a woman with backshots, pulling out only for her to rip the condom off his cock so he could fuck her raw.
You: Zayne, there are no pastries in that link! There is only... a man. And a girl. And a very missing condom!
Zayne: ...
Zayne: Oh.
You: “Oh”? That’s all? You just sent me a full blown porn video in the middle of the afternoon!
Zayne: Stop. Please. I am currently in the middle of a ward round. A nurse just tried to look at my phone.
You: [Sends a laughing emoji]
Zayne: I'm coming over later. We are going to that bakery. And we are not talking about that "menu" until we have had at least two espressos. To settle my nerves.
You: Are you bringing the condom? Just kidding! Don't kill me!
Zayne: 🙄
🩺🩺🩺🩺🩺🩺🩺🩺🩺🩺🩺🩺🩺🩺🩺🩺🩺🩺🩺
The bakery was a lost cause. The sourdough was forgotten, the espresso was unbrewed, and the only thing "rising" in your apartment was Zayne's cock the moment he walked in and saw the way you were looking at him, flushed, eyes hazy, and, quite frankly, a mess.
Now, you were bent over the edge of your bed, your fingers digging into the mattress as he held you from behind.
"Zaynie, please!" you whimpered, your voice cracking. You were desperate, begging him to just stop being so careful, to just let go and give you what that video had promised. "Just... Take it off, Please!"
His hands gripped your hips with a strength that promised bruises. "Just because you’re on the pill doesn't mean the statistical probability of a mishap is zero. It’s... fuck... it's about risk management."
"Even in a committed relationship," he continued, his words punctuated by the rhythmic, wet slap of skin on skin, "one must account for... ah, god... hormonal fluctuations and the ... the unpredictability of the human reproductive system. It's not just about pregnancy, it's about...shit...it's about hygiene, and the prevention of... of unnecessary... fuck, you feel so good."
He was losing it. The doctor was losing the battle against the man. He was supposed to be lecturing you on biological safeguards, but the way he was cursing under his breath low, dirty words that he’d never say in the hospital halls told a different story.
"You're being... so difficult," he groaned, his fingers moving to your waist, pulling you back harder against him. "Trying to... to bypass all the... damn it... the precautions. Do you have any idea what you're doing to my concentration?."
He leaned forward, his teeth grazing the nape of your neck, his voice dropping to a commanding whisper. "Stay still. Let me... let me take care of this properly. Fuck, if you keep making those sounds, the condom is going to be the least of our worries."
"Who cares about the... the statistics, Zayne!" you gasped, your forehead pressed against the cool sheets. "Just... fuck, just give it to me! It’s just us, isn't it?
You were rambling, throwing out half baked excuses about how you will feel "more connected" or how the latex was a "distracting from the sensory input" basically using his own medical vocabulary against him just to get what you wanted. You were cursing, too, your language losing all its usual politeness as the friction and the heat drove you toward a breaking point.
Then, suddenly, the fullness vanished.
"Why did you stop?" you demanded, your voice small and wounded, eyes searching his. "Zayne, why did you... "
He was hovering over you, his chest heaving, his hair mussed in a way that was entirely uncharacteristic of the composed man you knew. He looked down at you with an expression that was almost exasperated, that specific, "are you actually serious right now?" look he gave you when you forgot your keys or ignored his health advice.
He didn't need to say the words. You lunged for it, your fingers trembling as you gripped him, ripping the condom off.
The moment he slid back into you, skin on skin, the sensation was nothing short of transcendental.
" Fuck!" you breathed out.
"God, finally," he growled back.
The sight of your cunt clinging to his cock was enough to shatter even the most disciplined mind. Zayne, the man who could maintain a steady hand while repairing a human heart, lost his grip on reality. The friction, the warmth, and the intimacy of being inside you without any barrier sent him over the edge far faster than he ever thought possible.
He stiffened and with a few deep thrusts that felt like they were reaching your throat he broke. A sound between a moan and a curse escaped him as he collapsed against you, his breath coming in ragged gasps against your neck.
When he pulled out Zayne wasn't looking at your face. He was staring, almost hypnotically, downward. His gaze was fixed on the junction of your thighs, watching with a quiet, intense fascination as the evidence of his release, thick and pearly, slowly leaked from your plump pussy, tracing a slow path down your skin. He looked mesmerized.
"You know," you said, voice dripping with playful sarcasm, "for a man so obsessed with 'risk management' and 'preventative measures'..." You paused looking at his flushed face. "Your breeding kink is really showing, Doctor."
Cw: Smut. Oral. P in V. Thigh riding. Size kink. Panty sniffer Caleb Jealous Xavier. It includes links to 🌽 videos on X for visual examples on what was sent. 🔞 MDNI🔞
Sylus/Xavier/Rafayel/Zayne/Caleb
Yeah*sigh*I'm ovulating again. Enjoy 😝
Part 2 here When they accidentally send you a porn link...
The blue light of your phone screen is the only thing cutting through the darkness of your bedroom. You really should have been asleep an hour ago, instead, you’re spiraling down a rabbit hole you didn't even know existed.
Size kink.
You’d never really thought about it before, not until you started dating Sylus and tonight you were just scrolling, looking for something to satisfy the empty ache Sylus left all week.
This video is something you had never seen before or even thought was possible. You watch, mesmerized by the way the woman’s stomach subtly shifts a visible bulge as he stretches her out.
Heat pools instantly between your thighs, making your breath hitch and a dizzying sensation of fullness hit your gut. He's always so careful with you, so agonizingly gentle, as if you’re something precious he might break if he breathes too hard. But looking at this... a dark part of your brain wonders what it would feel like if he didn't hold back.
"Holy shit..." you whisper to the empty room.
Your hand moves instinctively, fingers sliding down to find slick heat. The video is playing on a loop. Bulge. Stretch. Deep. Repeat. You watch it while your imagination runs wild, replacing the stranger on the screen with the man who owns your heart. You’re picturing his heavy weight pinning you down, his eyes blown wide, filling you until you can’t even scream.
You’re chasing a peak that feels miles away until, suddenly, it isn't. You hit your first orgasm with a stifled gasp, back arching off the mattress, only to find yourself immediately chasing the second one, body trembling and spent in the wake of the first.
By the time the second wave of pleasure ebbs away, you’re a puddle of limbs and heavy eyelids. You’re half conscious, drifting in that beautiful limbo between wakefulness and dreams. In a daze of post orgasmic euphoria, you squint at the screen, your thumb hovering over the comment section.
"How do I send him this without actually sending it to him 😳"
You tap 'send' with a clumsy thumb. You meant to just post it as a thought, a digital scream into the void. But as your eyes flutter shut, your hand twitches a final, involuntary spasm of exhausted muscle. Your thumb slips. It slides across the 'Share' icon, hovers over the very first contact at the top of your recent list, and taps.
Sent.
You don't hear the subtle whoosh of the outgoing message. Delivered directly to the man who at this very moment is probably staring at a security feed or sipping red wine.
Sylus.
You just fall into a deep, blissful sleep, completely unaware that you've just lit a fuse.
“Come on, sweetie, don’t give up on me now" Thrust. The impact is heavy, forcing a breathless gasp from your lungs. “You can take it, can’t you?”
He isn't being the gentle, careful man you know. Not today. His hand is hooked firmly behind your head, his fingers tangling in your hair, forcing you to watch the unmistakable, fat bulge stretching the skin of your lower abdomen, proof to just how deep he’s buried himself inside you.
“You wanted this, now you have to take it and you are going to watch.”
And there it is. The reality of it. It’s visceral. It’s exactly what you saw in that video, but it’s a thousand times more intense because it’s him. It’s real.
Your vision swima and just as the shock of it all starts to settle, he shifts. He changes the angle of his hips in a calculated move that hits your G spot dead on. An uninhibited scream tears from your throat, echoing through the room.
“I've been trying to behave,” he says, and the words come out rougher than he probably intended, an edge of frustration bleeding through his usual composure “But you make it so difficult... fuck... by sending me your filthy little thoughts.”
His hand settles against your belly, firm and heavy, and the second he presses down, your body reacts with a sharp inhale. You tense instinctively, muscles coiling around him, but you don't pull away. You can't.
“Can you feel me here?” he asks, breath coming in uneven bursts. He’s buried balls deep and for a split second, you see a flicker of hesitation in his eyes. You make a face, a strange, overwhelmed expression of fullness, and he looks like he might actually pull back to give you a moment to breathe. He thinks he’s pushing too hard.
He’s wrong.
Don't you dare.
Driven by a desperation you didn't know you possessed, you move your hips in a searching rhythm, pressing his hand down harder against your stomach. You want the pressure. You want to feel the exact point where he meets your skin from the inside.
He lets out a loud groan at the sensation. Your narrow walls clamp down on him, tighter than they've ever been. Every millimeter of space between you feels like it’s disappearing, leaving nothing but friction and heat.
You don't have the words to tell him that you never want him to stop, so your body does the talking. You cling to him, legs wrapping around his waist as he holds you there, keeping you exactly where you are until your breathing turns unsteady.
Until your body softens in momentary surrender and tightens again a second later, as if you're fighting a war with yourself, trying to decide whether to let go or to hold on tighter.
In the end, you don't choose. You do both.
The world dissolves into a hot haze of pleasure. It couldn't be called an orgasm because this feels like a total system failure. You’re sobbing his name or maybe you’re just gasping for air, you can’t tell anymore as waves of pleasure crash over you, violent and unrelenting. Your pussy seizes around him in long pulses, milking him, begging for the very thing that’s pushing you past your limit.
He follows you a few seconds later, burying himself soooo deep you feel the hot rush of him filling you.
Slowly, the fog begins to lift, leaving you in a state of blissful, heavy lethargy. The hand that was just pressing so ruthlessly into your belly softens, fingers tracing lazy circles over your skin.
"You really are a menace." he murmurs, pressing a lingering kiss to your temple.
The shame you expected to feel, the embarrassment of that accidental video is nowhere to be found. Instead, there is only a sense of immense satisfaction.
"Next time," he whispers into your hair "don't bother sending a link. Just tell me. I'll give you everything you desire. Every single time."
The problem with being in love with a man like Xavier is that your brain is constantly a minefield of "what ifs."
He’s incredible, truly, but you’ve noticed the way he pulls back sometimes. When he’s brooding or when that possessive jealousy starts to prickle at him, he becomes almost too careful. Like he’s afraid he might actually break you if he lets go of that restraint.
So, naturally, you’ve been doing a little "research" to keep the inspiration alive.
Now, you’re sitting on the edge of your bathtub, scrolling through your feed, a habit that’s becoming a bit of a vice, when a video catches your eye. A girl pinned to a mattress, her head pressed down by her partner as he fucks her from behind. Hard. The sound of her moans echoes in your ears through your headphones and suddenly the bathroom feels about ten degrees too hot.
God, yes.
You quickly save the link to your "later" folder, a digital stash of things you want him to eventually try, and then scribble a quick, thirsty comment on the video "This but with my boyfriend dressed as Lumiere 🤤 " and set your phone down.
Buzz. Buzz.
A notification lights up the screen. It’s him.
[Xavier]: Found a new hot pot place. Apparently, the broth is spicy enough to kill a Wanderer. Want to go tonight? Please say yes so I can stop thinking about food and start thinking about you.
A soft laugh escapes you. He’s so predictable, yet so devastatingly charming when he wants to be. Your answer is an immediate "sure" because you’d say yes to a lukewarm bowl of water if he was the one serving it.
But he always forgets to look at the menu and ends up ordering something way too spicy or something you're not in the mood for, so you look for the restaurant's menu.
You see the link. Tap it. Copy. Paste. Add "Look at the options! The spicy broth looks insane." Send.
Funny thing is, you don't actually copy the menu's URL, you just cut it. You don't even realize you just sent him the very un culinary link to the video you were just watching to fuel your own delusions.
Little typing bubbles appear. They dance for a long time. They disappear. They reappear.
He's so indecisive.
⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐
"Lumiere?" the name sounds like a curse "You wanted Lumiere to pin you down?"
Your face is pressed so firmly into the mattress that the fabric feels like a part of your own skin, the scent of laundry detergent mixing with the heat of the moment. Every time he thrusts into you, the world tilts, your vision blurring into white light and dark shadows. The Xavier who kisses your forehead and cuddles with you is buried somewhere deep inside the man currently fucking you breathless.
"Xavie..." you try to speak, but his name dies in your throat as he shifts his weight.
"Tell me," he demands, losing the battle with his own restraint. He hits you hard, a deep, soul shaking thrust that forces a broken moan from your lips. "Tell me you don't need a costume to feel this."
You try to answer, to tell him he's being ridiculous...
Smack!
The sting of his palm against your ass makes you gasp, your fingers clawing at the mattress for purchase.
"You sent it to me on purpose," he mutters as he leans down, his chest pressing hard against your back. "You wanted to see me like this, didn't you? You wanted to see if I could be as rough as him."
He doesn't want an answer. He doesn't wait for one. He just wants to hear you whimper his name when he hits that perfect spot.
His hand presses your face down even harder into the mattress, muffling your cries. It's everything you were craving when you were scrolling through your phone earlier, but the reality is a thousand times better.
You start to move, trying to meet him halfway, trying to grind back against him to find the friction that will push you over the edge.
"Faster..." you beg, trying to turn your head to tell him that there is no Lumiere, there is only him, but he just presses you back down, his thumb grazing your hip bone with trembling pressure.
"Shhhhhh, just a little bit more," he lets out a long groan, his forehead dropping to rest against the back of your neck for a fleeting second before he surges upward again. "You should see the way your pussy is taking my cock right now, so greedy. Just for me."
His hand shifts. It leaves the back of your head to find the column of your throat. His thumb and middle finger curl around your neck not enough to hurt, but enough to remind you that he is in total control.
He stills for a heartbeat, his middle finger softly tapping the pulsing vein in your neck. "Every beat belongs to me tonight"
You just nod, a jerky movement, because you are standing on the very edge of a precipice, and the fall is coming. The tension in your lower belly is wound so tight it’s almost painful.
"Say it," he breathes, his lips brushing the shell of your ear, his words a warm, humid ghost of a sensation, his control fraying at the edges.
"Yours," you finally whisper, like secret you’ve been holding in your lungs for far too long, finally allowed to breathe.
The moment the word leaves your lips, he loses the last of his mercy.
He pulls back almost entirely, leaving you aching and empty for a fraction of a second only to drive back in, bottomless and bruising. It’s a cycle of withdrawal and overwhelming fullness that leaves you reeling.
"Give me what's mine" the command vibrates through your entire body.
The world dissolves into white light as your head falls forward, muscles spasming in the violent quake of your climax, but he catches your hair, tugging just enough to force your head up, his face inches from yours, his eyes dark and swirling with a hunger that could swallow the stars.
"Good girl," he whispers against your parted, trembling lips.
He thrusts one last time, deep and final, spilling molten heat as your name breaks from his lips, torn in half by bliss before he presses a kiss between your shoulder blades. For now, the jealousy is gone. There is only the quiet, heavy reality of being his.
The video catches your eye instantly. The lighting is a soft purple, casting a surreal glow over the two people on screen. A girl is on top, her movements slow and agonizingly deliberate as she drags her pussy over her partners cock, the rhythm of it making your cunt clench.
Tonight you are in a "no filter" mood. You need to share this. You need to tell Tara.
With a smirk, you tap the share icon, copy the link, and switch over to your messages. You find Tara’s profile pic or so you think and start typing with the kind of unhinged energy only a best friend can appreciate.
You and Tara have long since abandoned the concept of "boundaries" when it comes to your filthy late night chats.
“Omg Tara, look at this. Raf’s cock is so pretty, I swear if he’d just let me do this to him, I’d never leave the bedroom again 🥵💦”
You hit send with a satisfied whoosh and let out a long, dramatic sigh. Silence follows. For a few minutes you go back to scrolling, blissfully unaware that you have just dropped a digital bomb into the inbox of a man who is already struggling to maintain his composure.
Your phone vibrates.
It’s not a "LOL" or a "Damn" from Tara.
It’s a notification from Rafayel.
Rafayel: Is that so?
Your heart skips a beat. You frown, squinting at the name at the top of the chat.
Wait.
Your face goes from pale to a shade of red that would put a sunset to shame. You stare at the screen, wanting to physically crawl inside the phone and disappear forever. You want to delete it. You want to throw the phone out the window. You want to move to a different planet.
But then, the little typing bubbles appear again.
Rafayel: Don't just sit there blushing, cutie. I'm coming to your place and you are going to show me exactly what you want"
🫧 🫧 🫧 🫧 🫧🫧🫧🫧🫧🫧🫧🫧🫧🫧🫧🫧🫧🫧
You’ve lost track of time. Your thighs are starting to ache, every muscle in your legs feels tight, strained from holding yourself upright, yet you keep moving. You have to. The friction is the only thing keeping you grounded.
You’re straddling him, your knees digging into the soft linens, focused on the way your cunt drags over his cock. Slippery. Hot. Wet.
Every time you slide down, the underside of him, that thick ridge presses ruthlessly against your clit. You can feel the vein running along his length pulse in perfect synch with your clit.
Thump thump. Thump thump.
"Slow down..." he groans, gripping your hips "You're going to... fuuuuck... you're going to kill me"
The friction is creating a heat of its own, a sliding friction that makes your head spin. You watch slightly delirious, as the light from the moon filters through the window, catching the sheen of sweat on his pale skin and the way his hair is plastered to his forehead. He looks wrecked. He looks beautiful. He looks like he belongs entirely to you.
But his hands are far from weak. They are heavy weights anchored to your hips, and he uses them to sabotage you. Just when you think you’ve found a rhythm that might actually save you, he tightens his grip, forcing your hips to slow, dragging the slide of your pussy out into a long, shallow glide.
It’s cruel. A sadistic kind of torture, making the night feel endless, as if the clock has stopped just to watch you suffer.
He wants to stretch this out. He wants to milk every drop of anticipation from your veins until your entire body begins to tremble, not from pleasure, but from the weight of the climax that refuses to arrive. He wants to push you to that edge where even your silence sounds filthy, where the quiet between your breaths is thick with the unspoken things you want to do to him.
Once he’s satisfied with the slow pace, his hands begin to wander. They trace the curve of your waist, the dip of your spine, the swell of your breasts, learning your body the way a sinner learns to pray. Like hunger learning the art of restraint just long enough to make the eventual feast mean something.
You slide back just a fraction, settling the heat of your pussy directly over his balls and then you reach down.
Your fingers wrap around the base of his cock, just like you saw in that video. You begin to stroke him while simultaneously rotating your hips in a circular grind over the heavy fullness of his balls.
The sound that tears from his throat is something unhuman, a vibration that feels like it's coming from the depths of the ocean.
Your name is caught between his teeth in a soft, sinful exhale. He sounds undone, completely unraveled by the sight of you taking exactly what you claimed you wanted in that accidental text.
He’s right there, on the edge of an unravelling collapse.
And because you are just like him, a creature of beautiful, chaotic impulse, you don't let him have it. Not yet.
You release his cock, hand slipping away just as the tension reaches its peak, and drag your soaked cunt back up the entire length of him in one loooong slide.
It feels like a collision of two fires.
In your desperation to feel everything you let your entire weight drop. The clench of your pussy as you cum wraps around the underside of his cock, squeezing him with a force that leaves him absolutely helpless.
He has no choice but to follow you into the fire.
Spurts of his cum paint the pale skin of his stomach, the liquid warmth spreading in thick, white streaks, pooling in his belly button.
For a few seconds, neither of you moves. There is only the sound of your breathing and the humid scent of your shared exhaustion.
“Was that pretty enough for you, cutie?” he teases, though his hand trembles slightly as he reaches up to tuck a stray lock of hair behind your ear. His thumb lingers on your cheek, like he’s constantly checking to make sure you haven't vanished into the night. "Or do we need to do it again?"
It’s late, way past the time Zayne would usually be nudging you to sleep but he’s still tucked away in his office, probably buried under a mountain of medical charts or surgical reports.
Your eyes are glued to your phone screen, watching a VIDEO of a girl grinding against a man’s thigh, bodies pressed together, his hands steady even as she buries her face in the crook of his neck. The guy in the video is wearing pajamas that look disturbingly similar to the ones Zayne is wearing right now.
Suddenly, the empty space in your bed feels a little too vast, your mind drifting to the office down the hall, aching to be that girl, to climb onto his Zayne's lap while he’s buried in medical charts and just... fuck yourself stupid.
You want to reach down and touch yourself but you’re a loud sleeper and an even louder moaner. If you start now, there’s no way he won't hear you through the walls, and you aren't quite ready for that kind of intimacy yet. So, you settle for a bit of digital venting. With a flushed face, you type out a quick comment on the video: "God, I wish I could do this while he's working..."
You go to save the link to your "Filthy Things" folder for a proper session tomorrow morning, but just as your thumb hovers over the screen, your phone starts vibrating. It’s Simone. She’s calling, probably to gossip about something trivial. In your rush to swipe the call and answer her, your finger taps the wrong folder.
And because Zayne is a man who is always, always connected to his devices for work... he’s going to see the notification the exact second it pops up.
🩺 🩺 🩺 🩺 🩺 🩺 🩺 🩺 🩺 🩺 🩺 🩺 🩺 🩺 🩺 🩺
It didn't take long. After that little "digital accident," the silence between you two wasn't awkward so much as it was heavy. Charged. He didn't even tease you about the comment. He didn't even blush. He just looked at you with those piercing eyes, a tiny, knowing quirk at the corner of his mouth, and silently commanded you to come to him.
And now, here you are. Perched on his lap, doing the same thing you saw on that video. Your lower half is completely bare, your thighs hugging his muscular one as you press yourself flush against him.
The friction is driving you completely insane.
Zayne, however, is a man of terrifying discipline.
His left hand is braced on your lower back, while his right hand moves across his keyboard. He’s actually working. He’s reviewing files, typing out notes, behaving as if you aren't currently trying to melt into his lap. Every so often, he’ll pause, not to stop you, but to lean in. His breath, cool and smelling faintly of mint, brushes against the shell of your ear, sending a violent shiver down your spine.
"Ah... Zayne..." you whimper against his neck as you press yourself harder against him. The sound is loud, far too loud for his quiet office and you can feel the heat rising in your cheeks.
"Hush now," he doesn't even look away from the monitor, though you notice the slight tightening of his jaw. "I need to focus. These reports won't write themselves."
He’s being difficult. He’s being a tease. And you love him for it.
You try to be "good." You force yourself to still when he has to write something long on his computer. You sit there, trembling slightly, waiting for him to acknowledge the havoc you're wreaking on his concentration.
A moment passes. The only sound is the soft click clack of the keyboard. Then, you feel his hand slide from your hip to the small of your back, pulling you just a fraction of an inch closer, a subtle command for you to keep going.
"Good girl," he whispers, the words a warm caress against your ear.
His expression is completely professional, but the way his fingers linger on your skin tells a completely different story. He’s still working, yes but he’s also letting you feel exactly how much of a distraction you really are.
Every time your thighs tense up, every time you desperately bite your lower lip to stifle a moan that threatens to shatter the silence, the air thickens with indecency.
He’s struggling. You aren't blind. You can feel the insistent twitch of his cock beneath you, reacting to every open mouthed kiss you press against the pulse of his neck, the sharp line of his collarbone, and the smooth expanse of his Adam's apple. He’s trying to maintain that surgeon’s calm, but his body is betraying him with every shuddering breath you take.
You’re right on the edge. Your clit is catching perfectly against the fabric of his pajamas, the material already damp and clinging to you from the amount of arousal you're leaking.
"Look at me."
His voice cuts through the air, forcing your gaze up. He wants to see the exact moment your eyes glaze over, the moment your breath hitches and tells the truth that your lips are trying so hard to hide.
When his hand slides up to cup your jaw, it isn't the gentle, comforting touch you're used to during a quiet movie on the couch. It's different. It's possessive. It’s a disciplined kind of dominance, a reminder that while he is the composed Zayne in the daylight, there is a much darker man caged behind that professional composure and you are the only one who knows how to let him out.
"You are close, aren't you, love?" he whispers, his lips hovering so close to yours that you can feel the heat of his breath.
You can barely manage a nod, your lungs feeling too small for the air you're trying to pull in. You're breathing directly into his slightly parted mouth.
"Cum for me, then," he exhales, a rare flush creeping up his cheeks, betraying just how much this is affecting him too.
He shifts his thigh, bouncing it up and down in a rhythmic motion that catches your clit perfectly.
The world tilts. You feel your eyes lose focus and you can't tell if it's the shaking of your limbs or the pounding of your heart that's making you tremble so violently.
"Zaynie... Zayne..."
His name becomes your entire vocabulary, there are no words left, only the sound of his name on your lips and the crashing sensation of finally, finally letting go.
You are flicking through a never ending stream of mindless clips and memes. It’s supposed to be a quiet afternoon, just a bit of scrolling to kill the time until Caleb comes back, but then there...
A VIDEO pops up. It’s not your usual aesthetic travel vlog or a cooking hack.
You freeze, your heart doing a weird, little skip in your chest. You know you should probably swipe past it, but your eyes are glued to the screen. It’s a girl, her lace panties completely drenched. The guy in the video isn't even taking them off, he’s just sliding the tip of his cock against her through the wet lace.
A sudden warmth blooms deep in your belly, spreading down until it feels like you’re melting into the cushions. God, you’ve been craving that. The teasing, the slow, agonizing buildup. You’ve spent so much money on delicate, expensive little sets, thinking maybe Caleb would appreciate the way they look on you, but hes a fucking dog. He doesn't do "slow." He usually just rips them or tugs them off with impatience, going straight for the heat of you. You just want him to play with you like that. To linger.
Your inhibitions are a little frayed from the visual, and before your brain can catch up to your impulse, your thumbs are flying. You tap the comment section, the screen a mess of unhinged messages from strangers, and you add your own little confession: “I really need him to play with me like this, but he prefers to eat it raw from the start😢”
You hit send, a tiny, embarrassed flush creeping up your neck, and immediately swipe the video away, feeling a bit silly for being so vulnerable to a bunch of internet strangers.
You toss the phone onto the cushion next to you a second later, completely oblivious to one mortifying detail. He’d logged into his account on your phone earlier when his own battery died, and you hadn't bothered to switch back.
In his office, the most dangerous man in Skyhaven is about to watch, in explicit detail, how you want to be ruined.
🪷 🪷 🪷 🪷 🪷 🪷 🪷 🪷 🪷 🪷 🪷 🪷 🪷 🪷 🪷 🪷
It turns out your assessment of him was spot on. The man is a fucking dog.
He hasn't taken your underwear off. That’s the part that’s driving you absolutely insane. The delicate lace is currently soaked, clinging to your pussy like a second, translucent layer of skin. He’s been working his tongue against the fabric, licks so long and heavy they feel like they’re reaching deep inside you. You’ve already been hit by two earth shattering, toe curling orgasms, your vision blurring every time his mouth finds your clit through the damp cloth. He hasn't even slowed down. If anything, it's getting worse.
“This is the reason I usually take off those pretty panties you wear” he presses his face into you, his broad tongue sweeping up in one stroke against your entire slit. You let out a choked, broken sound, fingers tangling desperately in his dark hair, trying to push him away just to catch your breath.
“Your scent is so fucking addictive,” he groans against your skin, “Especially after wearing them all day... knowing you've been walking around, smelling like this, just waiting for me.”
Then, he says something that makes your heart skip a beat not out of fear, but out of pure shock.
“You have no idea, do you?” he pants, nose brushing against your clit. “Last two years of High School... I spent them stroking my cock raw just to the smell of your panties. Thinking about you. Wishing you were right there."
Your vision blurs. Your hips jerk upward involuntarily as a third wave of pleasure crashes over you. You cum hard, your entire body shaking as you spill yourself directly onto his tongue, voice breaking into a high, desperate sob of his name.
He doesn't pull away. He just drinks you in, a satisfied smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth as he tastes exactly what he's been craving.
The moment your legs stop trembling he hooks his fingers into the soaked gusset and drags it to the side, baring your swollen folds and your pulsing clit, sensitive from his relentless attention.
He doesn't thrust in. He doesn't go for the full stretch you’ve been silently praying for. Instead, he slides the drooling tip of his cock over your slit. He isn't even entering you yet, he's just... slapping it against your clit, teasing the very edge of your tolerance.
You wanted the lace, the play, the slow burn... but God, you also wanted him to fuck you until you couldn't remember your name. You wanted the stretch.
But Caleb is a man who listens. Or rather, he's a man who has spent a lifetime studying every detail of your desires and right now he is giving you exactly what you asked for.
He leans down, his eyes dark, watching the way your face contorts with pleasure and frustration. He doesn't give you the release of a full thrust, he just feeds you the tip. He slides just the head of his cock into your pussy, a teasing invasion that barely makes a dent.
The reaction is instantaneous. Your walls react to him like a living thing, clenching around him, desperately trying to suck him deeper, to pull the rest of him in. The sensation is so perfectly matched that a synchronized moan breaks from both of you.
He pulls out just a fraction and then he thrusts the tip back in. Over and over again.
“Please,” you whimper, the word sounding pathetic even to your own ears. “Baby, please...”
You’re trying to force him to go deeper. But he’s in total control. His left hand is working the length of his cock, pumping with a desperate rhythm, while his right hand finds your clit.
His eyes are pinned to yours, watching every flicker of emotion on your face as if he’s trying to memorize the way you fall apart.
And then, the teasing ends.
His mushroom tip, still nestled just inside your entrance, begins to pulse. Warm, thick spurts of cum hit your sensitive walls, flooding the tiny space he’s occupied.
Your pussy clenches around the tip of his cock, trying to suck every last drop out of him while his hand squeezes the rest of his length, forcing the remainder of his seed into you, filling you up until his cum starts to leak out.
He finally collapses against you, the weight of his body pressing you deep into the mattress.
"You're so loud when you're happy," he murmurs before pressing a slow, lingering kiss to your temple, then your cheek, before finally settling his lips against yours in a kiss that tastes of salt and everything you are to him.
He pulls back just a bit, his gaze dropping to where the soaked lace of your panties still clings to your thighs, then back up to your eyes. There’s a flicker of that obsessive intensity returning to his expression.
"There isn't a single thing in this world you could ask for that wouldn't make me crawl to you. So don't hold back, Pips."
sitting on the edge of the bathroom counter with lipstick tubes lined next to your thighs is the easiest way to make sylus completely forget about his schedule. he had been checking a pair of heavy guns, cleaning them, like always, when you suddenly called him over and demanded his immediate assistance.
sylus dosen’t even hesitate; he places the guns back down and walks over to where you were, slipping into the space between your thighs with his hands flat on the marble on either side of your hips to lock you in.
“if you’re looking for critique on your war paint, sweetie, you’ve picked a very biased judge, he rumbles, a lazy smirk on his face as his crimson eyes scan the colors.
“it’s just lipstick, sy,” you laugh, picking up a deep, muted, red shade. “i’m sure you have it in you to give me an unbiased review. now look.”
you carefully swipe the color across your bottom lip, then press your lips together to even it out before tilting your head to look at him. sylus leans down, bringing his face just inches from yours. he pretends to study the shade with serious concentration, but his eyes quickly darken, a playful glint in his eyes as his gaze locks onto your mouth.
“mmh, it’s a bit distracting,” he murmurs smoothly, voice dropping into that deep register that always has shivers running down your spine.
“distracting how?” you ask, breath catching a little at the way he looks at you.
“it makes me want to see how easily it rubs off,” sylus whispers.
before you can laugh or swat at his shoulder, his grip on your waist tightens, and he pulls you flush against him. he leans up, closing the distance between you to press his lips to yours in a soft yet bruising kiss that steals the air from your lungs. it’s slow, heavy and intensely possessive, his tongue easily sliding into your mouth to taste you thoroughly while his hand moves to cup the back of your neck, tangling into your hair to deepen it.
you let out a soft, helpless whine against his mouth, fingers clutching at his broad shoulders to keep your balance as the scent of him completely fills your senses.
when he finally pulls back just enough to let you catch your breath, his lips trail down your jaw, pressing hard lingering bites to the sensitive skin of your neck that make you gasp and arch into his touch. you glance at the mirror behind you and smile breathlessly, seeing the deep red shade completely smudged across his lips.
“sylus,” you whisper, your voice completely ruined as your heart hammers wildly in your chest. “look at the mirror. you made a complete mess.”
“i don’t see a mess,” sylus murmurs against your skin, his thumb rubbing a slow circle on your hip before bringing his lips to hover over yours again. “hand me the pink tube, sweetie. i want to see if the pink one tastes just as good on your lips.”
you’d spent the entire evening trying to get a rise out of him. you were sitting on his bed, poking at a how sleepy he was, even joking that he probably wouldn’t wake up if you took all your clothes off right infront of him. you thought it was funny.
until he caught your ankle in a grip that was strong, dragging you toward him until you were flat on your back.
“xavier!” you gasp, your breath hitching as he crawled over you, “wait, i was just—”
but xavier didn’t look tired anymore. no, he looked hungry. he hovers over you, his silvery golden hair falling over his eyes, his gaze heavy and possessive.
“you’ve been talking all night,” he murmured, his voice soft but still weighted with sudden and dark intent. “i think it’s time you used that mouth to say something else.”
“you...you were awake the whole time?” you whisper, your heart hammering against your ribs. god, you love when he gets like this. all the innocence faded. the way his eyes darken and he looks at you like that. so much so that he stops being a gentleman and takes you like a toy. and you want it each time. you want him to show you how nasty he can be when he’s not pretending to be a saint.
xavier smiles. he smiles so soft but you know there is none left in him right now. “every second,” he breathes against your lips, his voice dropping to a low guttural sound that has your core throb.
he dosen’t wait for you to catch your breath. xavier moves down your with quiet, lethal efficiency as he strips you down until your bare. when he settles between your thighs, he shoves your legs wide, pinning your knees back to your shoulders. he stares down at your glistening cunt, watching the way your folds pulse for him and him alone.
“you’re already begging,” he whispers. without warning, he spits directly onto your clit, warm thick glob sliding down into your opening.
“xav....” you moan, your hips jerking at the sudden feeling. xavier lets out a small laugh.
“you like this don’t you? being treated like this,” he says, using his fingers to smear the spit around with the slick, shining mess you’ve already made. “look at how you’re waiting for me. begging to be used. you’re so fucking wet, it’s pathetic. i bet you want me to lick you clean, don’t you?”
xavier leans in, the first touch of his tongue to your sopping cunt making you release a loud whine. he isn’t being gentle, he buries his face into your cunt, his tongue flicking and swirling against your folds with relentless speed and pressure. he uses his mouth to suck you, deep, tongue entering your hole to mimic a rhythmic fuck, driving deep inside your opening before coming out to wreck your clit again.
suck. suck. suck.
the way he’s eating you out is filthy. oh but you love it. he can tell by the strings of moans and whimpers leaving your sinful mouth as your fingers come down from holding your thighs up to tangle in his fluffy hair, pulling him towards your pussy.
“ah..h..xavier, d-don’t stop! more..” you sob, your hands reaching out to pull him closer, desperate for more. “too much... i’m g-gonna-!”
he catches your wrists, pinning them to the bed above your head. he watches you while he eats you, his ocean eyes blown wide and dark, drinking the sigh of your face breaking as he works his tongue. everytime your body jolts from pleasure, he lets out a low satisfied hum, the vibration sending hot sparks up your core.
“is this what you wanted?” he mutters against your wet folds, his breath hot. “to see how dirty i get? to have me eat you out until you can’t stand?”
“yes!... g-god, yes...keep going please, i’m—” you moan and let out unbashedly, eyes rolling yo the back of your head and toes curling into the sheets.
“i know,” he grunts, “i want to taste every bit of your release. i want to swallow your filth and leave you empty. come on, come for me. be a good girl.”
xavier becomes even more aggressive, his tongue darting inside you and licking your walls, mocking the way he’ll stretch and fuck you after. he dosen’t let upp even when the coil low in your stomach breaks, your body arching.
“xavier!.. xavier!” you scream his name, your voice breaking as you come hard against his mouth, stickiness coating his chin and face.
he stays right there, mouth pressed hard against you, swallowing every drop of your cum and licking you clean with long, greedy strokes until you’re completely spent snd trembling. xavier eventually crawls back up, his face flushed and glistening with your release. he pulls you into his arms, and tucks his head into the crook of your neck.
“next time you want to tease me,” he whispers, voice returning to that sweet innocent hum that now feels like a total lie. “just remember that i’m much better at playing dirty than you.”
you spend time together on collective days off, cuddling and watching tv in peace until he turns his head towards your cunt, rubbing the tip of his finger right over your clothed clit. you used to get shy and push him away, but you’ve become accustomed to his strange habits now. it was like a compulsion—he couldn’t go a single day without exploring your pretty pussy and finding new ways he could make you feel good.
it was easy when you reacted to his every touch, a dark patch forming after a few minutes of him teasing you. he always ignored your whines and instead chose to replace his finger with his nose, swiping through your slick folds and inhaling the sweet scent of your cunt.
“xavi…”
“you just smell so good my star, wanna live here”
he wouldn’t even bother properly taking your panties off, instead choosing to hook a finger beneath the band and pull them to the side so he could make out with your pussy. he let his tongue explore every inch of you, drinking in as much as he could before finally dipping inside your greedy hole. you were already close before he even had his mouth on you, but the way he was moaning into you had your thighs pressing tighter around his head.
“oh fuck…please my girl, need you to cum on my tongue”
he was so whiney, nearly tearing up as he tried to press you even closer to his mouth. it wasn’t until you saw him desperately rutting against his hand, a big dark stain forming on the front of his sweats, that you finally let go, crying his name as you rode the aftershocks of pleasure on his tongue.
he kissed your inner thighs as you tried to calm your breathing, stroking your waist and praising ‘how well you did’. after a few minutes passed though, he’d return to his task, now focusing his relentless stimulation on your clit, determined to have you squirt on his face.
Summary: Your nipples have become unbearably tender as your period approaches. Sylus notices and offers an interesting solution.
Content: MDNI, explicit smut, nipple sucking, nipple play, breast massage, fingering, semi-public sexual acts, Sylus being a smug tease, fem reader implied (2.6k wc)
A/N: True Life: I’m horny and my nipps hurt. ((sorry not sorry <3))
Your nipples have been an absolute nuisance for the past three days.
Anytime you brush past something it felt like too much.
You cannot sleep on your front anymore because it is sensory hell.
Your nipples – pebbled at all times whether you are cold/aroused or not.
On top of all this, your breasts are achy and sore, like you’ve had back to back chest days in the gym.
And forget about wearing a bra!! Having constant pressure on your chest is enough to ruin your day.
These symptoms began right after you finished ovulating, but you have never experienced them with such fervor before. And it is causing you unrelenting grief.
You were hoping this nightmare would end before today, because you had plans tonight with Sylus. But your hopes were dashed the minute you woke up, when that persisting awareness slapped you in the face.
You spent the day lazing around, but once it hit 4 pm you showered. After drying off and applying your usual products you mentally braced yourself to be uncomfortable for the next few hours.
It was time to put on the bra you bought specifically to wear with your dress for the evening. At the time when you were buying said bra you were hyped over how good it made your boobs look. But now, the bundle of fabric and foam was looking like more of a threat than any wanderer you’ve encountered.
You methodically put it on, somehow succeeding in not irritating your nipps. After, you slipped into your dress for tonight’s ceremony then moved on to applying your makeup.
With how slow you moved when putting on your bra, Sylus was at your place before you were finished.
“Running late Miss Hunter? I’m shocked.”
You huffed then trailed your eyes up to meet his amused reflection in your vanity mirror.
“Yeah, well I’ve been struggling a bit lately,” you said, hoping your anxiety over how you’ll survive the rest of the night didn’t seep through.
But with how swiftly his amused expression contorted into concern, you can tell that you failed.
“Should we stay in for the night then? No need to push yourself if you’re feeling unwell.”
Your heart warmed from his concern and a small smile graced your lips.
“I’m sure I’ll be okay. I was nominated for an award so I should at least be present. And I’m sure my coworkers would be heartbroken if Mr. Skye didn’t show up as promised,” you teased.
His eyes crinkled with his smile as he moved to stand behind you. His presence serving as a comfort while you put on the last bits of makeup.
“Are you certain kitten? I care more about your wellbeing than pleasing your coworkers. And I’m confident there will be plenty of other opportunities for us to catch up in the future.”
As he spoke you neatly put your makeup back into the vanity drawers before turning around to face him.
“I’m sure.”
He hums, then takes your hand in his to pull you to a standing position.
“Let’s get going then, Luke is our driver for tonight.”
Soon after arriving, you and Sylus are pulled into conversation with Simone, Tara, and a slew of UNICORNS team members. You have lost count over the number of people clamoring to speak with Sylus. The skill he must possess to entertain endless conversations about his “fruit business” while keeping a straight face is admirable.
By the time you two make it to your assigned seats, he has received three separate invitations to hang out along with multiple business inquiries.
Although you always enjoyed catching up with your coworkers, each hug you received and handed out caused you to inadvertently irritate your chest. With less to focus on now, your tender nipples are at the forefront of your mind again. And your bra is starting to feel like a torture device. You inconspicuously shift in your chair, hoping for any form of relief. But instead, the cups of your bra harshly drag against your buds making you visibly wince.
When you open your eyes, Sylus’ carmine gaze is already upon you. Assessing your pained expression.
He raises one of his eyebrows before leaning down towards your ear to whisper “Come with me.”
You were about to refuse before some very familiar black and red tendrils encircle one of your wrists, encouraging you to follow him. As you make your way down a darkened hallway you can’t help but question him.
“How do you know where you’re going?”
“I have my ways sweetie,” he replies smugly.
You purse your lips and remain silent, until he stops in front of what seems to be a closet door. When he opens it to peer inside, it is empty and seems rarely used.
“After you,” he says before following you in and quietly closing the door.
It would be pitch black inside the closet, if not for the sliver of light coming through the gap at the bottom of the door. You can hear him shift around a bit before he speaks.
“Will you tell me what’s wrong? You know I can’t stand to see you in pain.”
“Sylus, I said I’m fine. Let’s head back to our seats before they start announcing the awards,” you practically beg.
“Why won’t you tell me what is bothering you? If you’re adamant on staying through the entire ceremony, I can have Luke grab some painkillers for you.”
You shake your head, unsure if he can even see you in this darkened closet.
“That won’t help, I’ve tried that already,” you grumbled.
You can hear (and feel?) him take a step towards you. Something in the air shifts with his proximity.
“I could give better suggestions if I knew what the problem is.”
You feel your face heat up as you mumble your next words.
“It’smynipples.”
Neither of your say anything for what feels like hours.
“What about them?” he questions in an unreadable tone.
“I know,” he cuts in.
“To start, it’s the week before my period-”
“You know? How the fuck-”
“You share your period tracking data with me, remember?”
Your mind buffers before you can reply. “I'm aware. I just didn’t think you were actively monitoring it??”
“I like to know where you are in your cycle.”
Although you cannot see him right now, you can picture him shrugging in a nonchalant manner.
“I don’t even know how to respond to that.”
All you get is him chuckling as a reply.
“Anyway…back to my nipples. They have felt very sensitive the past few days, and I think it has to do with my hormones shifting? Every little touch feels like a zap of electricity. And this damn bra has been killing me since I put it on.”
He hums.
“Will a massage help? I’ll be as gentle or as rough as you need,” he says in a dulcet tone.
Butterflies rise in your tummy at his offer. You know he didn’t mean it sexually, but why did he have to say it like that?
“R-right now? Sylus they’re going to start the ceremony soon.”
Instead of answering he moves into your personal space, backing you into one of the walls of the supply closet. You can vaguely make out the shape of his left arm, placed on the wall above your head – blocking you in.
He leans down towards you until he is mere centimeters away from your face.
“I believe I asked you a question first kitten. Would a massage help?”
“Yes? No? Maybe so?”
You can’t help but squirm as arousal builds up in your core.
“F-fine. Just be extra gentle.”
You can almost feel his smirk from here.
“Anything for you,” he whispers before you feel both of his hands slide the straps of your dress off your shoulders. Then, he pulls down the top of your dress, exposing your bra. Lastly, he unhooks your bra from the front closure – allowing your breast room to relax.
You let out a sigh of relief, truly relaxing for what feels like the first time tonight. But just as quickly as you let your guard down, your breath is stolen when he cups each breast in the palm of his hands.
His touch feels searing against your pebbled nipples, almost like a heating pad was placed upon them. Once he begins massaging you, you have to bite your lip to hold back a whimper as pain mixes with bliss.
Besides your audible breathing and the involuntary sounds Sylus keeps pulling out of you, there is complete silence in the closet as he focuses on giving you a thorough rub down.
The arousal that you tried to keep at bay was creeping up again by the second. When you attempt to squeeze your thighs together for more stimulation Sylus speaks.
“I can feel you squirming. Do you need something else from me?”
You open your mouth to reply but your mind feels empty from the mounting pleasure.
“Cat got your tongue?” he teases.
He pauses to see if you’ll say something before continuing.
“Let me help you then. How does this feel?”
Your head shoots back and thumps against the wall behind you as his warm, wet tongue glides over your tender nipple. Goosebumps form on your arms from the unexpected sensation and you can feel a wet spot forming in your underwear.
Sylus groans as he lavishes one nipple with attention before switching to the other. Making sure to continue massaging the unoccupied breast, never letting one go without stimulation for long.
With his movements being so unpredictable in the darkness, you begin to tremble. Your hands shakily thread through his hair as you arch your back and try to push your breast further into his mouth.
He briefly pops off your nipple to encourage you.
“That’s it, take what you need from me.”
When he goes back to suckling, your pussy throbs and clenches around nothing indicating you are near your limit. You try to grind against him – seeking any friction for your neglected clit but Sylus holds you back.
“Come like this for me, you can do it,” he mumbles around the mouthful of your tit.
You jerk from the vibrations then he doubles his efforts. His fingers sink further into the flesh of your boobs as he massages them while starting to bob his head up and down each bundle of nerves. Sylus seemed entranced as loud slurps and pleased hums leave him.
The competing sensations and his sounds were driving you insane. So much so, that you could no longer suppress any of the needy whines you were holding back before.
The coil in your stomach gets unbearably tight right before you tip over the edge. You let out a gasp as wave after wave of pleasure slams through you. When you start to come down, erratic aftershocks wrack your body making your head feel fuzzy.
“Good job, I think you deserve a reward. Hmm?”
Your sluggish mind is still processing his words when you feel one of his hands slip underneath your dress. As it makes its way between your thighs – you fully come back down to Earth.
“You can’t be serious right now,” you whisper in disbelief.
“Oh, I’m very serious. Surely you aren’t satisfied with one measly orgasm,” he says in an incredulous tone, like he didn’t just fry your brain.
“Sy, my legs literally feel like jelly right now.”
He tsks in feigned disappointment before beginning to rub the seam of your pussy through your underwear.
“What have I told you about being greedier with your pleasure sweetie?”
Hearing his lascivious tone, you unconsciously clench your thighs around his hand as your clit tingles with renewed interest. And just like that – the last bit of your restraint is destroyed.
“Well, are you feeling greedy?” he whispers into the ever shrinking space between the two of your lips.
You take in a quivering breath before making an assenting sound.
Then, he presses his lips against yours, drawing you into in a mind melting kiss. Within a few moments, he returns his attention back to the space between your thighs.
You moan into his mouth as one of his fingers slides the gusset of your panties to the side to touch you directly. The feeling of his thick, middle finger trailing from your hole up to your clit coaxes your mind to empty once again.
He briefly backs away from your mouth, leaving your lips tingling in the aftermath.
“You’re so wet. Does this feel good?” he asks in a hushed tone.
“Y-yes,” is all you’re able to utter.
He presses light kisses to each the side of your neck in response as he continues to toy with your sopping slit. Each journey up to your clit is different. Sometimes he circles it with the lightest pressure, making you squirm for direct contact. Other times he teases your hole, barely nudging the tip of his finger in before slipping away again.
When your sounds turn desperate, his lips melt against yours. Swallowing each one like they are his sole reason for living.
While Sylus continues to explore the familiar territory of your mouth, he uses your slick to sink one of his long, slender fingers inside. Your hot, gummy walls clench around the digit as his knuckle meets your entrance. Then, he sets a maddening pace sending a shock through your system.
After a few pumps he easily slips in a second finger curving them to brush against the area that causes your hips to twitch forward. At the same time, he uses his unoccupied hand to rub tight circles over one of your nipples. His pace does not slow when you clench around the new intrusion. If anything, it is replaced with far more desperate tempo.
The lewd squelching sounds echoing in the closet combined with feeling one of your tender buds being tweaked makes your muscles tense up. You’re drowning in euphoria and your eyes roll to the back of your skull as he mercilessly fingers you through each throb and pulsation.
When you have control over your limbs again, you weakly grab his wrist, needing to escape the overstimulating pleasure. And the minute his fingers slip out of your hole, you sink down to the floor of the closet to recover.
Sylus crouches down in front of you, placing a small kiss on your forehead. Once you feel human again, he helps you stand back up. Carefully refastening your bra and smoothing the top of your dress back into place.
You both hear the same muffled tail end of a sentence from the speaker in the banquet hall “…and now, we will begin the awards portion of tonight’s event.”
Feeling your heart sink, you rush to slip your heels back on before rushing out of the closet. You both make it back to your seats hoping you don’t look as flustered as you feel.
Before long, your name is read along with several others as nominees for one of the Hunter Association awards. Minutes later, when your name is announced as an award recipient you make your way to the stage with shaky legs and mussed hair.
As you make your way to the stage you beg every deity available that you don’t look like you just got finger blasted into a fifth dimension less than half an hour ago.
After climbing up the short stairs to the stage, you catch Sylus’ eyes twinkling with satisfaction. You do your best to ignore him as you deliver your acceptance speech before scurrying back to your chair.
The remainder of the event passes by in a blur and before long you are on your way back to the N109 Zone for the night. You are exhausted and the shame you feel from what you both got up to in that closet will haunt you for nights to come.
You shift to rest your head against Sylus’ shoulder, trusting Luke to get you both back home in one piece. As you start to drift away, you must admit that your nipples weren’t bothering you anymore.
Caleb and Zayne you know I love you, I really really really do, but I'm going to hold your balls when I say this... 🤌😏🫦... *coughs* sorry I got a bit carried away.
So, for this banner... Im going to give the #1 place to this horny angel 👇. He didn't just eat .. HE GULPED OK, HE DRANK IT! When it comes to spicy banners he takes the first place every. single. time.
#1 Leg opener and coochie eater, Freakvier🥵
GDIYDJYDKYDKUCYIUOFOUF!!!!!
Just to Simp💋 @sugarxxbites - Tumblr Blog | Tumgag
